


bring a bullet, bring a sword

by chase_the_wind



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Bucky is trying to heal, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M'Baku is in over his head, Multi, Nakia sees and knows all, No Underage Sex, Okoye will protect Wakanda with everything she has, Political Marriages, Ramonda is a BAMF, SUPER SLOW BUILD, Shuri is a strong princess, Slow Build, T'Challa tries to be a good brother, This also me trying to distract myself from Infinity War, and she has come to kick ass and take names, covers time between black panther and infinity war, there is gonna be a surprising amount of fluff in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_the_wind/pseuds/chase_the_wind
Summary: “I, Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, am offering you myself, Great Gorilla M’Baku of the Jabari. My hand in marriage for your warriors and your forces to win back the throne for my brother.”ORA canon divergence where Shuri does what she does best in a difficult situation.She makes things better herdamn self.SHORT HIATUS, **NOT** ABANDONED!





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bloody Waters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710786) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 
  * Inspired by [All We Are and Will Ever Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13854930) by [runswithstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithstars/pseuds/runswithstars). 



> Title From: "All The Stars" by Kendrick Lamar, SZA

She grits her teeth against the cold and forces herself to keep from shivering. The thinness of the blanket around her shoulders does nothing to keep the sharp wind out, but she pushes forward anyways to the throne room. 

The Jabari guards do nothing to stop her, but she can feel the weight of their gaze on her body. She knows that one wrong move, and they will have their weapons through her heart before she could blink.

She has never been a warrior with a weapon; she has always fought with her mind. She knows that she will never have Nakia’s hand-to-hand combat skills, nor Okoye’s deadly intent with a spear, but she has the strength of her mind, and that mind has been running through their odds nonstop since M’Baku has shown them her brother encased in the snow.

Shuri had begged Bast many times to bring back her father, praying to their goddess to make their family whole again even though she knew that it was impossible. She had grieved her father, and she had slowly been coming to terms with it even though it hurt like a raw, aching bruise. 

When T’Challa had been thrown over that ledge…she felt her entire world crumble around her again.

But in this instance, when she had begged Bast to return her brother, her prayers had been answered. Her brother was alive, if shaken and ragged. The heart-shaped herb had worked its magic, and he was back.

Currently, T’Challa was recovering more under the careful ministrations of Nakia and their mother, but she knows her brother, knows him in the marrow of his bones, as inside out as she knows her own inventions.

She knows the lines of exhaustion on his face, knows the grief that is heavy on his shoulders. She knows that he is going to run the odds himself, and she knows that it will only be a matter of time before T’Challa comes to M’Baku with the same request that she is coming to him for. The difference is...T'Challa will not think to offer this, and she will not leave the fate of Wakanda to chance. 

Shuri knows that miracles have prices; the gods do not answer prayers without expecting a heavy toll to be paid. 

She is a princess, and she will pay that price for her country. 

There is a fanatic currently sitting on the throne of Wakanda, a man who should have been as close to her as her own brother if the world had been different, if her father had chosen differently. Their cousin has plans to create and wage war, and although she can understand where he is coming from, she has run the scenarios and the odds and the calculations, knows the death toll that will follow, and she cannot sit back and let that happen. 

When everything had seemed lost, when her world crumbled around her - Shuri had always turned to her brother. From the time she was a toddler, if she had scraped her knee, if she had hurt herself while secretly training with a weapon much too dangerous for someone as young and small as she had been...when Baba was lost forever…she had always turned to T’Challa to help make things better. 

T’Challa cannot fix this now. 

So she reaches down into herself and does what she does best. 

She is going to make things better her _damn self._

“I wish to speak to Chief M’Baku,” Shuri announces proudly, her head held high, shoulders back. 

The guards do not make a single sound, but they turn and open the doors for her. 

Dramatically back-lit by the sun reflecting off of the white snow, M’Baku sits upon his throne, an imposing figure in furs and leather. His eyes are hard as he stares down the throne room to look at her, but she will not be cowed. 

_Wakanda Forever,_ she thinks to herself as she walks forward. 

“What do you want, princess?” M’Baku bites out, making the honorific an insult by tone alone. 

Shuri lets it roll off of her skin like water on vibranium, refuses to let him land a winning blow. 

“Chief M’Baku, I come to you on behalf of my brother. Please,” here her voice wavers with emotion before she can help it, “Please, send your Jabari warriors with us back to the Golden City. With their might, we can take back the throne from the American usurper, protect the rest of the world from war and death and destruction.” 

M’Baku stares at her impassively for a long moment, before he looks over her shoulder to his guards. 

“Leave us,” he commands in a tone that books no argument. 

The warriors do not hesitate, filing out of the room and letting the doors shut with a hollow thud, leaving the two of them in the room alone. 

Shuri feels a spark of unease fill her belly; she is not so naive to the ways of the world. Nakia and Okay have told her stories, Ayo has trained her in some self-defense; she knows what the world can do to woman. She knows that she has minimal chances of winning against M’Baku’s sheer strength. 

Even as that thought takes root in her head, she knows in the marrow of her bones that M’Baku is too honorable to lay a hand on a woman without her consent. She forces herself to relax as she continues to keep eye contact with the Jabari Chief, trying to sway him with the force of her thoughts alone. 

“No,” M’Baku rumbles, standing on his feet in one fluid motion, hand gripped tightly around his staff. 

“T’Challa was beaten in a fair fight,” and here his face twists slightly, “I saved your brother because he spared mine. A life for a life. But I will not send my warriors to fight, bleed, and die for a man who lost the throne to an American in a fair fight.” 

“You were not there,” Shuri hisses as calmly as she could, but _rage_ fills her bones and makes the back of her tongue taste metallic, and she wants to shake M’Baku, because it was not a fair fight, not at all - 

“I did not have to be,” M’Baku cuts her off without hesitation, his disinterest making her bristle like an angry cat.

 _Like an angry panther._

“My answer is no,” he continues. He walks down past her, their sides barely brushing, and he makes his way in silent strides to the door behind her. 

He has his hand on the door handle when her voice rings out in the wide hall again. 

“I am offering to make a trade,” Shuri calls. 

M’Baku scoffs, does not turn around to face her as he calls back, “The Jabari have no use for your technology. Your dependence on it has made you complacent, it was the beacon that drew the Killmonger to your door like a moth to flame.” 

Shuri does not rise to the bait. 

_Wakanda Forever,_ she reminds herself, steeling her spine and turning to stare at M’Baku’s back. 

“I am not offering you technology. I know your people have no use for it.” 

Intrigued despite himself, M’Baku half-turns to look at Shuri, hand still on the door. 

“Oh?” He scoffs, almost mockingly, “What else do you have to offer in trade then, you, a princess in exile?”

 _Wakanda Forever,_ Shuri whispers to herself once more and then over and over again. 

_For Baba, for T’Challa, for Mother, for everyone in Wakanda and everyone in the world._

“I, Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, am offering you myself, Great Gorilla M’Baku of the Jabari. My hand in marriage for your warriors and your forces to win back the throne for my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp...i wrote this instead of sleeping so please be gentle with me
> 
> listen, infinity war RIPPED MY GODDAMN HEART AND SOUL OUT, and you BETTER believe I am writing something else for that, but this idea has not left me alone, and I need some kind of fluff-esque distraction from my pain 
> 
> i love this ship, and there is a shortage of fics in this fandom for them, and well...you know what they say. if there is none, eventually you write your own
> 
> also, side note: Shuri's age. 
> 
> i am keeping her 16 (almost 17), and fan casting M’Baku as 28 (so, a 12 year age difference, which ironically enough, is the age difference between my parents) for Black Panther.
> 
> i am also going to make it three, almost four years between Black Panther (which is the few days after Civil War) and Infinity Wars, which means that during Infinity War, Shuri is turning 21, and M’Baku has just turned 33
> 
> i am head-canoning that the age of majority in Wakanda is 18, so NOTHING will occur between M'Baku and Shuri before then, so NO UNDERAGE. NONE.
> 
> this first chapter is short, but please please please let me know what you think about this fic or if you just want to sob with me about infinity war and how DISTRAUGHT i am about it


	2. two

_“I, Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, am offering you myself, Great Gorilla M’Baku of the Jabari. My hand in marriage for your warriors and your forces to win back the throne for my brother.”_

For a long moment, M’Baku was frozen where he stood; surely he did not hear her correctly. 

He whirled around, shock painting every line of his face. 

Shuri stands sure, strong, and proud. Her arms are loose at her side, her feet hip-distance apart, and she is gazing back at him unabashedly. The only sign of her unease was where her fingers were wrapped tightly in the blanket around her shoulders, so tightly the material was starting to strain.

He had thought of her as an insolent child, still did think of her like that in some respect; she had stood there, in her ceremonial garb and blithely made light of their traditions, their way of life, the way that had kept them safe from the rest of the world for generations. 

And now, here she was, offering herself in the most traditional of ways to the most traditional tribe within Wakanda.

Almost without conscious thought, he finds himself studying her with an intensity he normally reserved for enemies. 

She is _tiny;_ he towers over her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. She is so slim that he could probably wrap both hands around her waist and have his fingers overlap. 

He could very easily break her with one hand. 

She is not built like a Jabari woman, not strong and curvy with muscle needed to deal with the cold and their harsh life. She is built for her labs and her inventions that he despises. She would never survive in the mountains. She would never survive a battle without her own weapons to even the field.

There is no shame to be stronger of mind than body, but he knows that in battle, in _this_ battle, she will fall. 

M’Baku knows that she will follow her brother until the ends of the earth and T’Challa will run into this battle with little thought beyond what he feels he needs to do. He will not be able to protect his sister, and there is little doubt in M’Baku’s mind that Killmonger will kill Shuri without hesitation. 

Something within him _burns_ at the thought of the soldier putting his hands on the princess.

He viciously pushes away the small voice within him that whispered _his princess._

M’Baku is a red-blooded male, thank you very much, and Hanuman knows that she is a beautiful girl. But still just a girl, still so young, so naive to the world and how it works. 

She is offering her entire life to him on a platter, to save Wakanda and her brother, a life she had barely begun to live. 

“Do you know what you are offering, little girl?” M’Baku questioned, still disbelieving. 

Something flickered in Shuri’s eyes, but her expression remained composed. 

“I am a genius, M’Baku, I do know what I am offering.” 

“Are you even of age?” He questioned, knowing full well that she was not. 

Shuri rolled her eyes, her composure finally breaking to reveal irritation. 

“I am not saying marry me _today,_ you oaf. I am turning seventeen in a few months, if I do not die fighting Killmonger. I will be of age in Wakanda to sign a betrothal agreement then, and my mother will certainly insist on us not marrying until I am eighteen.” 

M’Baku decided to let the small insult slide. 

“I doubt your brother will agree with this,” he deflected, trying to give himself a few moments to think. 

“My brother may be the _rightful_ King, but he is not my keeper, and it does not matter if he agrees with it or not,” Shuri was like a dog with a bone, refusing to let him deflect this conversation or delay it. Every moment counted, when it would only be a matter of time before Erik sent out the weapons to their War Dogs. 

“All that matters if if you and I agree to this agreement.” 

“The Princess of Wakanda cannot move into the mountains, and Jabari cannot lose their Chief.” 

“I know you shun technology, but there _are_ jets. Either one of us can travel between Birnin Zana and Jabari lands in less than thirty minutes, faster if you let us connect you to the transportation grid.” 

“You have put a lot of thought into this,” M’Baku noted, a little impressed with how she immediately had an answer to every point he tried to bring up. 

Shuri finally seemed to lose some of her patience, and snapped, “Yes, I have, because despite what _you_ may think of me, I want to protect my country, and the rest of the world! T’Challa will be able to defeat Erik Killmonger in combat, there is no doubt in my mind, but there is not way that T’Challa will be able to defeat Killmonger and the good portion of the Border Tribe that supports him! He needs forces, back-up, fighters to help him so he can focus on defeating Killmonger. So, Chief M’Baku, do you or do you not accept?” 

There were so many reasons for him to say no: his distaste for her inventions and technology, her age, not sending his warriors to fight and die for a King he did not wholly believe in. No matter who sat on the throne of Wakanda, the Jabari would endure. 

But there was a part of him, a part he hated to acknowledge, that _wanted_ to say yes, that wanted this princess for himself. For her brilliant mind, for her fiery spirit, for her sharp wit. That part of him that was attracted to her, as much as he railed against it because of how _young_ she was. 

If he had heard tell of any of his Jabari warriors of his age courting a girl of hers, he would have had _words_ to say about it.

He knew marrying her would put the Jabari tribe in position of power, but it would also make them a target. They would be pulled into the politics, into the fold of all the other tribes that he knew looked down on them. 

But with T’Challa on the throne, and with how much the Black Panther loved his sister, M’Baku knew that he would never be sidelined completely, that he would not be shunned off to the side.

The question was, was he willing to accept?

Several long moments passed before he decided to go with his instincts; they had never steered him wrong before. 

He slowly walked closer to Shuri, each step carefully measured. Even though her breathing sped up and he could see her pulse pounding in her neck, she did not move backwards from his advance. 

Once they were standing so close that her front was brushing against his chest with every inhale and exhale, his free hand reached for one of hers where it was still clutching the blanket around her shoulders. 

With measured actions, he pulled the blanket off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground beside them. She stared up at him, a mix of emotion in her eyes; no fear, he was proud to notice, just wariness for what he was doing. She shivered as soon as the cold air hit her skin, goosebumps spreading down her smooth skin. 

_She was so_ thin, he thought again to himself. 

He would have to make sure she had a large store of furs for when she was in the mountains, or insist on her bulking up a little bit.

Speaking of...

Without breaking their gazes, he unclasped the furs that he wore around his shoulders, before bringing the pelt around her and wrapping her tightly in it, clasping it at her throat so that it would not fall off of her narrow torso. He kept his hands on her shoulder, the fur soft underneath his calloused hands. 

She was nearly swallowed by the furs, and he could see her curl into the warmth of them without hesitation. Her eyes were wide, but he could see the hope growing in them slightly, along with disbelief, as if she did not expect him to agree. 

He took a moment to admire how she looked in the fur, the small, masculine part of himself almost purring at the thought that he was the one to provide her with warmth, with _protection,_ before he intoned, “I accept.” 

.

.

.

.

Shuri left the throne room, focusing on keeping her breathing steady and trying to keep from looking as though she were running away. M’Baku’s gaze was heavy on her back the entire time she left the throne room.

She had extracted a promise out of him that he would not tell T’Challa about the agreement; that when T’Challa came to him to ask for aid, to simply say that they had already brokered an agreement, to hint heavily that it was for a trade in technology. T’Challa would be too relieved for the aid to even ask why the Jabari would want a trade in technology, knowing their stance on it. 

_It worked,_ she thought, shocked beyond words, _I cannot believe it_ worked. 

The furs around her shoulder provided more warmth than her thin blanket, thick and warm as they were. They were also warm from the heat of M’Baku’s body, but she tried not to think about that. 

They smelled good, comforting, like a mix of sandalwood, herbs, and the faintest smell of something smokey. It was an intoxicating scent that she tried to ignore, but it was a work of will to keep from burying her nose in the furs and just inhaling deeply. 

It had been so long since she had felt _safe;_ the entire time heading into the mountains, she had been looking over her shoulder constantly, expecting to see Erik Killmonger following them, murder in his eyes.

Before then, it had been her fear as she stared at the television screens, waiting to see if her brother was going to be the next casualty after her father. 

She had to find her mother; she had to tell her mother first what she had done, the agreement that she and M'Baku had brokered. 

_Oh Bast,_ Shuri realized, _I am going to have to tell Mother that M’Baku is going to be her son-in-law…_

Shuri honestly did not know how her mother would react to the news; her mother would either agree that it was a good idea, or she would be furious at her for going behind her back and giving her hand to a man that was more than a decade her senior. 

But she needed her mother on her side before she told T’Challa, for T’Challa would never allow her to do this on his behalf; he would let his pride rule him, would demand that she break the engagement, would insist that they would be able to win without the Jabari forces. 

He would ruin the alliance she had made because he wanted to protect her, would end it without a second thought or moment’s hesitation.

A part of her wanted to let him; wanted him to burst in, be the big brother he was, and protect her from the consequences of her choice.

_No,_ she said to herself determinedly, _I cannot look back. I made my choice. I am going to see it through._

Almost blindly, mind still racing, she somehow ended up back at the rooms that they had been given; Nakia and T’Challa in one room together, she and her mother next door, and Everett Ross across the hall from them. 

Thankfully, there was no one in the hall. Without hesitating, she threw herself at the door to her room, opening it and scrambling inside, shutting it firmly behind her and locking it with trembling fingers. 

“Shuri? What-"

Her mother’s confused voice broke through the whirlwind of her thoughts, and Shuri turned and dove into her mother’s embrace without speaking a word. 

Ramonda could only watch in confusion as Shuri hurried into the room as if the devil himself were at her heels, locking the door behind her. 

She had a split second to take in her daughter before Shuri was in her arms, trembling slightly, but she only needed a second. 

The furs around her daughter’s shoulders, the terrified but determined look on her face…

“Oh, daughter,” Ramonda sighed into the top of Shuri’s head as she gathered the young girl closer, “What have you done?” 

.

.

.

.

As the story poured out of her, Shuri kept her eyes on the wall. She could feel her mother’s eyes heavy on the side of her face, but she could not bring herself to look at her. 

“T’Challa would never have offered my hand, not even if I told him to,” Shuri whispered, trying to explain her thought process for her decision. 

“He will ask for help and M’Baku will say no. And maybe M’Baku would have shown up anyway, maybe he would decide to help once we leave, but I cannot leave it to fate. I did what I had to.” 

“Oh, darling,” Ramonda sighed, gently forcing Shuri to look at her. 

Her daughter’s eyes were shining with tears. Shuri allowed herself to be turned to look her mother in the eye, her shoulders curving up to her ears as if she were expecting to be scolded. 

“I am not mad at you,” Ramonda insisted, even though a part of her died a little at the thought of her precious daughter sacrificing herself like this, “I wish that it had not come to this, but I understand.” 

She brushed away some of the tears that spilled down Shuri’s cheeks as relief stole across her expression.

“I am proud of the princess you have become,” she continued, her own voice becoming thick with emotion, “And although I am not a fan of this plan of yours, you have made the best and smartest decision you could. You have saved Wakanda.” 

Shuri sobbed slightly, the tumult of emotion becoming too much for her with everything else that had happened. 

“I don’t know how I am going to tell T’Challa,” Shuri admitted, fear creeping back into her voice at the thought of having to look her brother in the eye and deal with his reaction. 

Shuri and T’Challa had been closer than most siblings; maybe it was their difference in age that kept them from fighting horrifically, maybe it was just because they were the only ones who understood the weight of being royalty, but whatever it was, T’Challa was the most important man in her life now that Baba was gone. She wanted his approval, his support, and she _knew_ he was going to be furious with her, a kind of fury that she had never been on the receiving end of.

Ramonda gently ran her fingers through Shuri’s braids, cradling her daughter against her side. Some of Shuri’s tears wet the shoulder of her blouse, but she paid it no mind. 

“Do not worry,” she soothed, “Hide away the furs, and we will tell him after the battle. If we win, he will be on such a high that if we break the news to him the right way, then we can contain the explosion.” 

Shuri laughed shakily, before pulling back and wiping at her eyes. 

“And if we lose?” 

Ramonda sighed, before primly standing up and bringing Shuri with her. 

“Then…well, we won’t have to worry about telling him anything then, will we?” 

.

.

.

.

_“Nakia!”_

Nakia turned, brows furrowed together. 

“Shuri? What is wrong?” 

Shuri was standing half-behind the door, only her head popped out into the hallway. 

Nakia immediately tensed; Shuri looked upset, her eyes wet and a little red as if she had been crying. Her hair was loose from the buns she had been wearing before, her braids loose around her shoulders. 

“Come here, quickly,” and the princess ducked behind the door. 

Nakia followed her quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

“Shuri, what-“

Her voice trailed off when she got a closer look at the princess. 

More specifically, the fur that was now wrapped around Shuri, clasped in the front with a broach that was carved into the shape of a roaring gorilla. 

The same fur that had been draped around Chief M’Baku’s shoulders earlier that day. 

Nakia’s mind raced; there was only one reason why that fur would be around Shuri’s shoulders. 

Almost without thinking about it, Nakia felt her hands come up to cover her mouth in horror, her body frozen in place. 

“Shuri, please tell me you didn’t,” Nakia begged, staring at the girl whom she thought of as her baby sister, the precious child she had seen grown up and had trained a bit before she started being sent on missions. The little one that she and T’Challa would babysit proudly. 

Bast, she had been there when Shuri had taken her first unassisted steps, had been the hands to help hold her up before then. 

Shuri opened and closed her mouth several times, struggling for words, before she turned and cast a desperate look to her mother. 

Queen Ramonda was standing at the foot of the bed in the room, hands clasped primly in front of her. Her face was serene, but Nakia could see the small wet patch against her shoulder from where Shuri had probably cried into her mother’s arms earlier. 

“Nakia, it is not fair for us to ask any more of you, but we need your utmost discretion in this matter,” Ramonda insisted. 

“Of course, of course,” Nakia assured, before crossing the room and quickly enfolded Shuri into a hug, drawing the girl close, her hands sliding across the furs. They were soft and warm, but Nakia knew what they meant, and it made her want to rip them from Shuri’s body. 

Shuri clutched Nakia close, burying her head in the spy’s shoulder. Nakia could feel the minute trembling in Shuri’s body, could see that the princess was wound so tight she was liable to break. 

Nakia closed her eyes, her heart aching. 

_Oh, my precious friend, what have you done?_

“T’Challa needs help…and M’Baku agreed to send his warriors.” 

“Your hand for his army,” Nakia finished, pulling back to look Shuri in the eye. 

“Yes,” Shuri confirmed, her voice still shaky but her expression stronger now. 

“Oh, little one,” Nakia sighed, before gently brushing some of the younger girl’s braids back. 

“You cannot tell T’Challa,” Shuri insisted, vehemently, “Not now. If we win this battle, we will tell him then, but telling him right now, he will tell M’Baku that he does not need his forces, or something equally stupid to protect me. He will break the alliance.” 

“I will keep it quiet, of course, but what about M’Baku? If T’Challa goes to him to ask for help, what is he going to say?” 

“I told him to keep the engagement a secret until after the battle,” Shuri reassured, her own voice stumbling slightly over the word _engagement._ “I told him to tell T’Challa that I worked out an alliance with him already, and to hint heavily that it was a trade of tech.” 

“T’Challa will not believe that, not with how the Jabari view technology,” Nakia insisted. 

“I know,” Shuri continued, “But I am counting on T’Challa being too thankful for the aid to push it further.” 

Nakia brought her hands up to rub at her temples, a pounding ache already taking residence there. 

This was going to end in disaster; T’Challa would be so hurt at the thought the three of them were conspiring to keep this from him, would be devastated that his victory came at the price of his sister’s future. 

“Shuri, I hope you know what you are doing,” Nakia sighed heavily, before turning to Ramonda. 

“We must prepare to leave soon,” Nakia looked nervously back at the door behind her. “T’Challa has already gone to M’Baku to ask for aid. We will probably be leaving in a few hours.” 

Shuri hurriedly unclasped the fur from around her shoulders and gently folded it, bending down to tuck it into the rucksack that was sitting at the foot of the bed, already half-full of other things. 

“Okay, we will be ready. And remember, you _cannot_ tell T’Challa any of this.” 

“What can you not tell T’Challa?” 

Shuri froze like an antelope in headlights; all three women whirled around to look at the door, where Shuri's confused and wary brother was standing in the doorway, a stone-faced M’Baku behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg thank you all so much for the response! the kudos and the subscriptions and ESPECIALLY the comments, please keep them coming, it is the best support you can give :D 
> 
> i hope you like how this is going! these chapters are a little short for me, but they seem to end naturally so i don't want to make the breaks awkward here and there
> 
> i know several M'Baku/Shuri fics have stopped updating now, but i am making a promise here and now for you guys and myself that i am going to see this story through. i have a rough outline all the way until infinity war, with my own story for the years in between
> 
> i do have another story (for those of you fans of harry potter and the vampire diaries, that one is for you, please go check it out!) that i update on wednesdays (or at least i try to) so i am going to be updating this one on tuesdays! there will be another chapter this coming tuesday, so you guys get a little bit of a treat this week!
> 
> please please please leave me a comment with some feedback, let me know how you like this, what you think of characterization, things you want to see in this (i promise that there will be bucky & shuri friendship!) and anything else! 
> 
> much love guys, thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter <3


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Tell the truth, or someone will tell it for you." - Stephanie Klein_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Shuri should have known better than to think this wouldn't blow up in her face in a spectacular fashion.

M’Baku would be lying if he said that he was not the tiniest bit amused at the scene that was unfolding before him. 

The three women were frozen, staring in shock and visible horror as T’Challa walked into the room. Shuri was half-kneeling on the ground, bent over her rucksack where he could see his fur he had wrapped her in sticking out of the top. Queen Ramonda was calm, but her face was wary, unsure of how much of the conversation T’Challa had overheard. 

Nakia immediately stepped forward, a warm smile on her face and her body relaxed, subtly drawing his attention away from his sister. 

“What are you not to tell me, my love?” T’Challa asked again, arms crossed over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at Nakia. 

Before the spy could respond, Queen Ramonda stepped forward so she and the spy were standing shoulder to shoulder, both of them protectively half-in front of Shuri. 

The princess took the moment of cover to immediately close the rucksack tightly and jump to her feet, trying to put on the air of nonchalance. 

“I take it that you have already spoken to Chief M’Baku about support for the coming fight?” 

T’Challa turned to his mother, still on guard.

He was wise to be wary; all the women in his life were _terrifying._

“Yes, and he told me that he and Shuri had already worked out the details of an alliance, which is why I am here to ask _what,_ exactly, sister,” his gaze turned to his little sister, who was shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, “You have traded?” 

Shuri beamed at her brother sunnily, quickly retorting, “Why, my cunning mind of course.” 

M’Baku was reluctantly impressed; she was still giving the air that they were trading technology, not her hand in marriage. 

T’Challa still did not look convinced. 

“Try again, sister. The Jabari have no desire for our technology.” 

Shuri cast a look over her brother’s shoulder, clearly asking M’Baku to help her, but he merely crossed his arms over his broad chest and raised an eyebrow back. He was not going to help her lie to her brother. He agreed to make it sound like a simple trade of technology, but he would have told T’Challa the truth immediately. 

The subterfuge was going to come back and bite the princess in the end. 

Shuri’s face twisted in annoyance - M'Baku had a feeling it was going to be an expression he would become intimately familiar with in the future - before she turned back to her brother. 

“Just because they do not desire our current technology, does not mean that there is not technology they will welcome in the future. I agreed to come back to Jabari lands after this battle and work with them to create things they will desire and use.” 

_Clever girl,_ M’Baku mouthed over T’Challa’s shoulder. 

Shuri tried not to preen too much. 

T’Challa still did not look happy with that answer - either because he knew his sister was hiding something, or the thought that his sister would be coming back to Jabari lands (and M’Baku wondered how violently he would react when he got the full truth if that were the case) - but before he could ask further questions, Nakia distracted him once more. 

“When do we leave?” 

T’Challa looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the three women critically; the three of them did not give away anything, and when T’Challa turned his gaze back to him, M’Baku merely kept his face blank. 

Obviously deciding to let it go for the moment, T’Challa sighed and motioned to the door, “Right now.” 

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.

Shuri hugged her mother tightly, trying to convey everything she could not put into words through the gesture. 

Ramonda would stay in Jabari lands, for her own safety. She was not happy about sending her children out to fight without her there to support, but she knew she was not a fighter, not like they were. So she would stay where she would be protected, so T’Challa and Shuri would not have split focus worrying about her. 

“Be safe,” she commanded her two children vehemently, hugging each of them tightly. 

T’Challa promised, before striding forward to keep pace with Nakia on their way to the lone train that connected Jabari lands to the rest of Wakanda. Shuri held onto her mother for a little bit longer, before she and Ross followed T’Challa. 

For a long moment, it was just M’Baku, his guards, and the Queen Mother left in the room. 

Ramonda turned to M’Baku, her eyes calm and her hands steady. 

“You will protect my daughter,” she said in a voice laced with steel, a command and a statement of face all in one. 

M’Baku was not surprised that Shuri immediately told her mother about the engagement; from the few times he had seen them together, he was able to tell immediately how strongly Shuri depended on her mother. And he respected the Queen Mother, respected her a lot for all she had done for the country, for how she endured after the death of T’Chaka, and for how she had raised such a headstrong, intelligent daughter.

So, instead of deflecting and walking away like he would have done to anyone else, he took the Queen Mother’s hand and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles, bending slightly at the waist as he did so. 

It was a sign of respect, of honor to one that is wiser and more experienced. She stood with the quiet dignity that she had never lost, even when she came to his lands an exiled queen, and asked for his aid. 

“With my life,” he swore to her. 

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.

Shuri did not see much of the beginning of the battle.

As she, Nakia, and Ross sprinted through the palace halls, disguised in the Border Tribe blankets, she knew that T’Challa had made an (overdramatic) entrance by himself.

She knew that W'Kabi had refused to yield, had called the rhinos. She knew that T’Challa was more hurt by his friend’s betrayal than he would ever let on, knew that he partially blamed himself for it because of his inability to fulfill his promise to take down Klaue.

She knew it weighed heavily on him, that it would continue to weigh heavily on him even as the days went by and he was forced to put his friend on trial, would be forced to see his best friend, his brother-in-arms punished for his defection.

Ross had impressed the hell out of her, and she was found that she was honestly becoming quite fond of him; she kind of wanted to adopt him as another one of her “Damaged White Boy Squad,” but she knew her mother have _words_ if she did. She settled for making him his own set of kimoyo beads - well, a single one that he would wear around his neck, an interface to her so she could help him if he ever needed it. She knew he would keep their secret for the UN, knew that he would make sure his uncle, the god-awful Thaddeus Ross, would not be able to get his hands on their tech. 

Shuri had tried to help as much as she could during the actual physical battle; Nakia had her ring blades, had thrown herself at Erik without hesitation, forcing the soldier back a few steps. 

She had roared in fury when she saw Killmonger slash at Nakia’s thigh, sending the spy crumpling wth a cry of pain. 

Erik had smirked at her, his handsome face twisting with malice as he taunted, “Sup, princess?”

Shuri had aimed her blasters at him, trying desperately to overload the suit; she knew her tech, knew that if she could just push through it for long enough, she would have a split second where she could get to the man underneath it. 

She had been furious at the thought that he was wearing a suit she had designed for her brother, had raged at the thought of her weapons - the ones she had created to _protect_ Wakanda, _protect_ innocent people and their War Dogs and spies - being used to start a war. 

He had gotten away from her though, had damaged her blasters and knocked her hard enough to the ground all the air left her in a _whoosh._

And even as he loomed over her, she snarled out, “You’ll never be a true king,” fear making her tongue loose, but anger twisting in every word. 

Erik’s face had gone dark, and he lifted his hand holding the spear with no hesitation. 

He was going to kill her. 

She braced herself for the pain, keeping her eyes on him through her fear. 

If he was going to kill her, he was going to look her in the eyes as he did so. 

But then T’Challa was calling out for her, and he threw himself at Erik, knocking them both over the ledge and away from her and down, down into the depth of the mines. 

She tried to help remotely, but there was only so much she could do.

She trusted her brother to fight smarter this time, to make it back to them in one piece. 

She drew on the training she received to hold her own against the Border Tribe with the rest of the Dora, fights back the bitterness when she sees W’Kabi, seethes on the inside when she sees others she knew and trusted and laughed with forcing them back - 

She is trapped with the Dora and Nakia in a circle of shields when she plays the only ace she has left. 

“Now!” She bellows into the communicator, hoping against hope that her alliance and her sacrifice played out like she prayed it would. 

And it does. 

They all hear the bellowing chants, and the sight of M’Baku leading his army in the surprise charge makes her want to weep with relief.

“Witness the might of the Jabari, first hand!” He bellows, his bulk standing out shoulders and heads above the other. His entire body is his weapon, and he weilds it like a master. He lifts a Border Tribe warrior with ease, sends the man flying a good twenty feet away. 

M'Baku raised his opens arms in a challenge, and when the Jabari warriors swarm over the rocks, the Border Tribe does not stand a chance. 

She sees M’Baku fight, hears Ross through the comms refuse to give up even when his life was in danger. She fights and fights and _fights_ , until suddenly -

It’s finally over. 

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.

The aftermath of the battle is a blur. 

The Border Tribe warriors are arrested, imprisoned. She saw out of the corner of her eye as W’Kabi knelt, eyes full of regret, as Okoye take his weapons, her face like stone but her eyes showing the depth of her anger, her hurt. 

T’Challa is the one to whisper to her through their private comm channel that Erik is dead. 

Shuri heads to him immediately, and when she sees him standing above the mine looking to the setting sun, she throws herself into his arms and holds onto him tightly for a long time. 

T’Challa wraps her up in his embrace and holds her like he did when she was still small enough for him to carry. He hugs her so tightly her ribs protest a bit, but she would never complain about it. 

He is alive. That is all that matters. 

Erik is laid out on the ground, arms crossed over his chest in the Wakandan salute. For the first time…he looks almost at peace.

She holds her cousin’s hand, still warm and covered in dirt and sweat and blood, and allows herself a moment to mourn for him, for the life that was stolen from him. She mourns for the fact that he was not raised in the palace with them, that they never had the chance to be a family, that he never had the chance to become another annoying older brother to her, that he had been left behind and forgotten. She honestly doesn't know if she will be able to forgive her Baba for leaving a part of their family behind, doesn’t know if she will ever truly understand his motivations.

She is glad Erik had gotten to see a Wakandan sunset at least once in his life. 

Shuri wished she could find it in her to mourn for him more, but he had almost killed her brother, and that was one other thing she knows she will never be able to completely forgive.

T’Challa tells her what he wants to do, before anything can stop them, before it becomes a situation out of their control. So she remote controls a small jet so that it comes flying to them, landing smoothly in an open space a few meters away from them. 

T’Challa carried Erik into the jet with minimal effort, laying him down gently on the floor of the ship.

Shuri heads into one of the storage rooms near the mouth of the jet hanger; it is morbid, but they do stow coffins there for instances where War Dogs are killed in the line of the duty and are bought back to Wakanda for burial. She sends one of the coffins to the surface, and T’Challa brings it into the jet. 

It is only the two of them, not the giant funeral party that had come out to mourn their father, but something tells Shuri that Erik would have hated having more people than absolutely necessary there.

She pilots them across Wakanda, heading to the ocean. They will reach the shore in a little less than an hour at full speed, be far out to sea soon after. While the autopilot does its job, she helps her brother. 

Together, they gently wipe the majority of the blood, dirt, and sweat off of Erik - no, N’Jadaka - and take the necklace that houses the suit off of him. T’Challa pulls a spare robe - done in the traditional black, with the golden threads sewn into a pattern that are traditionally worn by those in the Golden Tribe - and they dress him in it. They leave it open at the front, so that N’Jadaka’s scars are visible. 

T’Challa only hesitates for a second before he puts their uncle’s ring on the middle finger of N’Jadaka's right hand. Gently, they cross his arms in the Wakandan salute again, carefully rolling his hands into fists at his shoulders.

Then there is nothing more to do. 

When they step backwards and look at their cousin, he looks like the Wakandan prince he should have had the chance to be his entire life.

They lay him in the coffin, and lock it. It only takes Shuri a few extra moments to drill holes into the bottom and top of the coffin, small ones, so that the water will fill it instead of the coffin floating.

She and her brother hover over the open ocean, and together, they place the coffin into the water, watching as it fills with water and slowly sinks into the blue depths. 

_"Hlala, umzala wam. Ndiyathemba ukuba uxolo,”_ T’Challa whispers, and when the siblings turn to look at each other, both their eyes are brimming with tears.

Then they bowed their heads, clasped each other’s hand tightly, and gave Prince N'Jadaka of Wakanda the respectful send off that he deserved.

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.

.

.

In the hours following their return to Wakanda, it’s a messy blur of checking in on Ross, cleaning up her lab as best she could from where it had been damaged by the fighter jet blasts, and sending word to their tearful mother that the battle is over and all is well. 

Ramonda swears that she will be on the next train down to the Golden City, and then ends the call.

It’s the long, arduous work of making sure the weapons are recalled, that those injured are tended to and those that died have been treated with dignity. It is making sure that the Jabari warriors are housed in the palace quarters, in places of honor. 

It is assembling the Council members, those that remained, and planning meetings to start the next day. 

Shuri barely has a moment to _breathe,_ can barely _think_ through her exhaustion

So when M’Baku finally catches up with her, she is definitely not at her best.

Shuri is stumbling with exhaustion, her muscles sore from the abuse she had put them through, and she is trying to decide if going to the kitchens to find food is worth it, or if she should just make her way back to her rooms and collapse. 

T’Challa is still running around like a maniac, but she trusts that Nakia will force him to sleep and rest when it really becomes too much. 

M’Baku appears almost out of nowhere, still dressed in his furs and armor. His club-staff weapon is strapped to his back, and she realizes idly that he must have found his rooms, for his face and hands are scrubbed clean. 

“Princess,” he inclines his head, for once the title not sounding like an insult. 

“Chief M’Baku,” she respectfully inclines her head to him in return, but then immediately stops when her head starts to spin. 

A large, warm hand is suddenly wrapped around her forearm, steadying her. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I am fine,” she reassured, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears, “Just very tired. Forgive me, but I am going to throw myself into a bed and not awaken until absolutely necessary, or until another maniac tries to take over Wakanda, whichever comes first.” 

M’Baku actually _laughed_ at that. It transformed his face, and made him look much younger, much more approachable. For a split second, her traitorous mind whispered, _this is a man I can be happily married to._

Shuri’s head is already spinning, so she forces herself to abandon that train of thought; she cannot allow her mind to go down _that_ rabbit hole right now.

“Come then, princess. I shall escort you to your rooms. You will need your rest for tomorrow. King T’Challa has called for a Council meeting, and for the first time in decades, the Jabari have been invited to attend. We will make the announcement of our betrothal then.” 

Shuri stopped dead in her tracks, and although she could never hope to have the strength to stop him physically, she grabs at his forearm to keep him from walking onwards. 

“No!” She protests vehemently. 

M’Baku’s face turned serious again, and he pulled his arm away from her grip to cross his arms tightly across his chest. If she were not so tired, Shuri would have noticed that he looked insulted. 

“No?” He repeated. 

Shuri frantically gestured for him to lower his voice, casting her gaze over her shoulder and then around his bulk, making sure that there was no one in the hall that would be able to hear them. 

“You can’t make the announcement at the Council meeting! I have not told T’Challa yet!” 

It was clear from her body language and the nervousness in her voice that she did not want to tell _anyone_ about the engagement. She was looking at him like he was an idiot for thinking about talking about this publicly in the palace, never mind the fact that everyone was busy with their own tasks. 

“You mean you do not _want_ to tell T’Challa yet,” M’Baku sounded angry, and the judgement in his tone made her bristle. 

“No, of course I do not _want_ to tell him, but I _have_ to! Tomorrow he will be just as exhausted, he will not wake before the Council meeting, I will not have time to tell him. You cannot make the announcement tomorrow!” 

M’Baku pushed down the hurt that welled in him, and covered it with the front of anger. 

He did not think until later that Shuri did not know Jabari traditions; their tribe was an isolated one, rarely did they share any traditions or knowledge about their way of life with outsiders. So there was no logical reason to expect Shuri to know the insult she had just dealt him. 

He would blame his own exhaustion, the aftermath of adrenaline and battle, for why he did not think it through, why he thought she was insulting him, why he felt as though she were trying to _hide_ him. 

In Jabari culture, once an engagement had been agreed upon, hiding it was akin to being ashamed of it, of being ashamed of your partner. There were announcements, grand ones, when a couple agreed to wed. It was a way of showing pride, of showing appreciation and respect to your betrothed, to essentially show to the world that you were confident and happy in your choice. 

It was an ironically public tradition for such a closed off tribe. 

To have the Princess of Wakanda look at him like he had lost his mind for wanting to announce their engagement, to have her look as horrified as she did about telling her beloved brother about it…it was a blow he did not expect to hurt as much as it did. 

He wanted to smack himself for thinking that it would be anything different; for generations, the rest of Wakanda had looked down their noses at the Jabari, had scoffed at them for being a “primitive” tribe in the mountains, who did not use the all of the wonderful advancements of technology. 

Of course Shuri - the one who was in charge of the technological advancements, the one who had created most of their weaponry and infrastructure and even some of their medical advancements - would be ashamed of the man she had tied herself to. Of course she would see their engagement as a necessary evil, would see him as nothing more than a muscled warrior who she had agreed to marry for his forces. Of course she would want to hide it. Of course she would not be proud, be happy about the engagement, about _him._

How _stupid_ he was to think anything else.

“Of course,” M’Baku bit out stonily, “Forgive me, _Princess,”_ and here his tone turned back to derisive on her title, and Shuri flinched back at the sudden coldness of his words, “But just realized I have forgotten about a pressing matter. If you would excuse me,” and with that abrupt ending, he pushed past her and down the hall without looking back. 

And Shuri could only stand there in the hall and wonder what the hell had just happened. 

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.

.

.

The Council meeting the next day was scheduled for noon. And although she had immediately fallen asleep, despite her own worries about what had happened with M’Baku whirling through her brain, Shuri was still exhausted, sore, and a little irritable. 

Thankfully, that irritation was ebbing away with each cup of coffee she drank, so she was not a complete monster throughout the meeting. 

It was mostly T’Challa checking in with the remaining Elders, hearing from them how they had fared in the battle and the days when they thought he was dead. He took down their complaints, consoled them for the lives that had been lost, and listened to the Elders throw around their concerns moving forwards.

Shuri made notes throughout the meeting about the things she would be responsible for - reinforcing the shields now that the Border Tribe was essentially not to be trusted until after the trials, the necessity for better emergency medical planning in case of another crisis, the new ships and weapons that would need to be built to replace the ones destroyed when they blew them up to keep from crossing the borders - and her mind whirled with thoughts of new failsafes and improvements to the tech. 

And still, in the back of her mind, she worried and wondered when she was going to be able to corner T’Challa, maybe ply him with an alcoholic drink beforehand, and tell him the truth about what she had done for their alliance. 

She knew that the longer she put it off, the worse the entire situation would become, but she was _terrified_ about how he would react, and that fear was what kept her from charging forward like she did with most things in her life. 

She had zoned out of the conversations, only to come back to the conversation when the topic turned to the Jabari. 

“We owe the Jabari a great debt,” T’Challa said formally, a small smile on his face as he turns to M’Baku, who was sitting in a new Council chair, with a straight back and a formal expression. 

The Council Members - representatives, elected Elders from the River Tribe, the Mining Tribe, and the Merchant tribe - all nodded politely to the chief, their expressions guarded. Shuri’s eyes darted to the empty seat where the delegate from the Border Tribe would normally sit, and the other chair near T’Challa where W’Kabi would sit, giving his friend his support.

“I would be honored if you would consider this seat on the Council a permanent one. Too long have the Jabari not been welcomed in Birnin Zana, and I wish to change that immediately."

“Of course,” M’Baku says in a cool tone, before his face twists wryly, “King T’Challa. But your thanks are redundant."

Shuri goes cold, her tablet falling through her frozen fingers to her lap.

Across the room, Nakia sees the expression on the princess’s face and shoots to her feet, casting a frantic look to Queen Ramonda, who is straightening up as well. Okoye casts her a strange look, but Nakia does not pay attention, her mind racing with how to possibly stop the coming storm.

T’Challa’s brow furrows slightly in confusion. 

“The Golden Tribes owes the Jabari many thanks, for without you, the battle would not have been won,” T’Challa repeats himself, clearly thinking that M’Baku is simply trying to deflect the attention off of his tribe’s contribution to the battle.

Shuri knows better.

 _Don’t,_ Shuri begs internally, staring M'Baku down, _don’t break your promise, don’t do this, not here, not now -_

But Bast is done answering her prayers now, because M’Baku locks gazes with her, lingering anger in his expression, and she knows what he is going to do and she is _powerless to stop him -_

Shuri should have known better than to think this wouldn't blow up in her face in a spectacular fashion.

“There is no thanks needed,” M’Baku smirks, “For your sister and I have already come to an agreement.”

“Yes, the trade of technology,” T’Challa acknowledges, much to the Council’s surprise. They murmur, disbelief in their tones. 

“Yes,” M’Baku continues, “And soon a trade of technology will not be the only ties between the Jabari and the Golden City. Tell me, Princess,” he turns to look Shuri fully now, a mockery of gentility as he inclines his head, “would you prefer a spring wedding, or a summer one?”

T’Challa stills, hands gripping the arms of his throne in a bone-breaking grip.

Silence falls rapidly in the throne room. Shuri can feel bile claw the back of her throat; she thinks for one awful moment that she is going to vomit right there in front of everyone, the weight of their gazes almost unbearable on her skin. 

_“What,”_ T’Challa breathes through clenched teeth. 

No one in the Council chamber moves a single muscle. 

M’Baku smiles cockily at T’Challa, “I am honored to announce that I accepted the betrothal proposed by your sister, Princess Shuri. Her hand in marriage for my warriors to help you regain the throne. On my honor as a Jabari warrior and a Chief, I would never turn my back on family that needs me, _brother,”_ M’Baku spits out the last word like a bitter insult, and Shuri flinches. 

T’Challa is still for a long, long moment before suddenly, he is exploding out of the throne, punching M’Baku right across the jaw before tackling the larger man right out of the circle of chairs.  
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.

.

It takes four of the Dora Milaje - including Okoye, who _does not look amused_ with the situation - to pull T’Challa off of M’Baku, and it takes three of his own personal guards to keep M’Baku from lunging forward at T’Challa. 

The Council members are all chittering away behind them, and Nakia is trying to calm down T’Challa. 

“Please, T’Challa, not here, not right now - “

“Did you know?!” T’Challa demands, glaring down at her before whirling around to look at his mother as well, his eyes darting between the the two women.

Nakia and Queen Ramonda exchange loaded looks, but T’Challa simply whirls around to glare down at his beloved. 

“This is what you were not supposed to tell me,” he snarls, not asking, merely affirming, “This is what you three _lied_ to me about."

Shuri could only stand there, frozen, as T’Challa looked between all of them with the worst expression of hurt and pain and _betrayal_ on his face. 

He swiveled around, pinning her to the ground with the force of his gaze. 

_“Shuri.”_

Tears welled up in her eyes automatically; T’Challa had _never_ spoken to her in that tone of voice before. He had never _looked_ at her like that before. 

Like she had betrayed him, like she had sunk a vibranium spear into his back and twisted it.

Was this was how he looked when Zuri told him the truth about their father, what T’Chaka had done to their uncle? Was this how he looked when he found out how their cousin had been left behind, when he carried Erik up to see his first and last Wakandan sunset? 

Was this how he looked as he held their father’s body, unable to save him from a deranged terrorist? 

Hurt, shattered, like the entire foundation of his life was just cracked straight down the middle?

_Was this how Erik looked, an innocent child who walked into his apartment and saw his father’s body on the floor?_

“Everyone that is not a member of my family, _leave this room immediately,”_ Queen Ramonda barks the order in a tone that books no argument, and all the Council members and their guards do not linger, hurriedly run out the door, shutting it behind them. 

Soon, it is just the Dora Milaje, Nakia, M’Baku and his few guards, and then her family left in the room.

“T’Challa-“

Ramonda and Nakia both stepped forward, speaking his name in unison, trying to distract him for a moment. Shuri felt a rush of affection for her mother and the woman she knew was going to end up being her sister-in-law, because she knew they were just trying to protect her. 

_It is not their job to protect me anymore,_ Shuri reminded herself harshly, _it is not T’Challa’s job to protect me anymore._

Shuri steeled herself, respectfully waving away the two woman. She would face the consequences of her choices like an adult, would look her brother in the eye and handle his reaction. She lied to him, even if it was a lie of omission instead of a blatant falsehood. She took away that choice from her brother, had done this behind his back, and she was going to deal with his - completely warranted - reaction. 

“T’Challa, brother-“

 _“Don’t,”_ he begged, raising a his hand in her direction, his eyes shining with fury.

“You lied to me,” he continued, his voice wavering with so many emotions she could not hope to every name them all. He glared at her, a glare so heavy and piercing that she felt as though she would burst into flames. 

“I had to,” she stammered, “You were going into battle, we thought that you _had died,_ and then we had just gotten you back and this was a way to make sure you would have the warriors needed-“

“Why would you even _think_ about doing this?!” T’Challa roared. 

“I did it because you needed the warriors, because without them, we would have been overwhelmed! I could not risk Killmonger killing you, could not risk him endangering the rest of the world!” 

“Did you think that I would have _ever_ asked you to do this? Do you think I want you, my little sister, to have sacrificed this? You are so young, you are only sixteen years old, and you _sold your future_ away! I would have fought without the Jabari, I would have walked away, _I would have protected you-"_

 _“You can’t always protect me!”_

T’Challa reeled back as if she had slapped him. Shuri clasped her hands over her mouth, as if she could push the words back down her throat. Tears ran down her face unchecked, and for a long moment, the two siblings just stood there, staring at each other, a divide between them that neither had any idea how to cross. 

“Brother -“

T’Challa flinched violently at her voice. Before anyone could stop him, he turned and all but ran out of the room without looking back. 

The Dora Milaje followed him, Okoye giving Shuri and Nakia a look that clearly said _We are going to have_ words _later._ Nakia looked sick to her stomach, and with a single look to Queen Ramonda, she turned and ran out of the room after T’Challa, calling out for him as she disappeared down the hall. 

Queen Ramonda crossed over to her daughter and gently cupped her face, looking to her daughter wordlessly. Shuri merely shook her head and motioned to the door, whispering loud enough that M’Baku could hear the words from across the room, “Go after him. If Nakia cannot get through to him, it will need to be you.” 

“Of course,” the Queen Mother whispered, before pressing a firm kiss against her daughter’s forehead, “Find me afterwards, alright?” 

“I will.” 

And then she was gone as well.  
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.

For a long moment, Shuri did not say anything. She just stood in front of her chair, her tablet in her hands as she stared at the wreckage of the tables and chairs from her betrothed's brawl with her brother. 

When she finally turned to look at him, he bristled at the accusation in her eyes. 

“You should have told him in the beginning,” M’Baku said stonily. 

For once, the words came easy; she was not flustered, thrown off balance, or intimidated by this giant of a man that she barely knew anything about. Anger, frustration...this time, the emotions did not trip up her tongue; no, this time, they sharpened it.

“Yes, I should have!” She started, glaring at him with everything she had. M’Baku looked suitably surprised, but before he could say anything, she plowed on, _“I_ should have said something! He should have heard it from _me!_ And he would have! I was going to tell him in _private, alone!”_

She felt tears press harshly against the back of her eyes, but they were not tears of hurt, they were tears of _anger._

_Bast,_ she was so _sick_ of crying!

M’Baku had taken her choice from her. And she knew the irony of the situation, thank you very much; she took the choice away from T’Challa about how to fight Killmonger, and M’Baku took the choice away from her of when to tell her brother the truth. 

She stormed down from where she was standing until she was right in front of him, glaring up at him with little concern for how much bigger he was, how his guards were staring at her in tensed silence, ready to pounce forward if needed.

“You blindsided him in front of the _entire council,_ after he was forced to kill our cousin, after he was nearly killed himself. Our father was just murdered in a terrorist attack. Now, in his mind, you are taking his only sister away from him. You had no right,” she punctuated her last words by slamming her hand against his chest, trying and failing to push him away from her, _“No right_ to tell him like that! I had the right to tell him the way that _I_ wanted to, in a _respectful_ way that he deserved as _my brother,_ and you _took that from me!”_

“We are to be wed,” M’Baku needlessly reminded her, “What is yours is to be mine as well. It was within my rights as your _betrothed -“_

“You already know how far I will go, what I will sacrifice for my family, for my brother,” Shuri stated coldly, locking away all of her emotions in a box, forcing herself to remain calm and cool and collected, “I _traded_ myself to you, like a _respectful, traditional princess,”_ she spat out the words, finding vindictive pleasure when he flinched at the venom in her words, “Should I expect that you will force our marriage to be traditional in all aspects? Are all my choices dictated by you? Am I to come to you on the morning on my eighteenth birthday to be wed, not a day later? Should I _prepare_ myself now for you to be awaiting your _marital rights_ that night and every night afterwards, regardless of what _I_ want?"

He stares stonily down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly she can see the outline of his muscles through his skin. His eyes are a study in fury, in anger, but she is too exhausted to care. 

She has just lost her father, her future, and probably her brother’s trust. She buried the cousin she never knew she had in the cold ocean yesterday. People she thought were her friends turned their backs on their family, called for their blood. She had been fighting, running for her life, staring death in the face for the past few days with barely a moment to breath.

She felt ragged, like every bit of her had been rung dry, and she was left twisted up in the aftermath. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Shuri whispered, voice tightening with the emotion she violently tried to repress, “I am just a child that scoffs at tradition, right? Someone not worthy of the _Great Gorilla M’Baku’s_ respect, or consideration, even though she is to be his wife.” 

Shuri will not _cry_ in front of him, will not let the tears fall. She will not give him the satisfaction of seeing her like this, seeing her hurt and broken down anymore than he already has. 

She will armor herself in courtesy, become the most _traditional princess_ she can for him. She will be so saccharine sweet, so brutally and blatantly fake, M’Baku would wish for nothing more than her to be the brat he called her before. 

“I am glad I found out the truth now, rather than later, of how the rest of my life is to be.” 

Leaving him standing there in front of the carnage of his fight with her brother, she simply turned on her heel and walked out of the Council room, the door swinging shut behind her with a final sounding _click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa's words to Erik: (Xhosa) Farewell, my cousin. I hope you find peace.  
> (Please let me know if this is inaccurate, I used Google Translate so there might be errors)  
> *****  
> oh man, this chapter ended up much longer than i thought it would
> 
> i am honestly a little overwhelmed in the best possible way at the feedback i have been getting for this story! i hope you all like this chapter!
> 
> it may seem all over the place, but both T'Challa and Shuri are recovering from the loss of their father and a very tumultuous few days; emotions are running high, both of them are not in the best place, and they are not handling everything perfectly, because they are human and humans are flawed
> 
> i hope i did a good job explaining why M'Baku acted the way that he did, and there will be many conversations to be had in the future between everyone in this story. i am going to try and make it as realistic as i can, and there will be angst but also the beautiful fluff of a relationship blooming! 
> 
> please keep commenting, let me know what you think of this really emotionally charged chapter, and also let me know if there are any scenes you really want to see! between M'Baku and Shuri, between Shuri and T'Challa, even between T'Challa and Nakia or Okoye and W'Kabi!
> 
> thank you for reading! see you all next tuesday, please drop a comment, kudos, or subscribe!


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The sun will rise tomorrow, and we will try again."_
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> Queen Ramonda then took the betrothal agreement, pricking her own thumb and signing beneath her daughter’s name as the witness. 
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> “By blood, the agreement is sealed,” Ramonda intoned, her eyes sharp and cold as she stared him down across the table.

By the time Nakia had gotten into the hall, T’Challa was already out of sight. The Dora lingering in the hall as well told her that he either commanded them to leave him be, or he had already disappeared by the time they had followed him into the corridor. 

Cursing under her breath, she turned to head towards the rest of the palace, resolved to hunt down T’Challa if she needed to, when Okoye grabbed her arm to stop her. 

The spy turned to face her friend, whose face was twisted in confusion and protective anger. 

“Nakia, is it true? Is the princess to marry that…that _brute?!”_

Nakia swallowed harshly, nodding without a word. 

Okoye spat out her own curse, spinning around and tightening her grip on her spear. She glared at the Council room, where M’Baku had been left alone with Shuri, the Queen Mother having left the room after her. 

“We cannot let this happen, Nakia, she is only sixteen! Who the hell allowed her to do this?!” 

“It was Shuri’s idea, she did not tell us until after it had been agreed upon. I do not know what T’Challa will do, but now is not the time to ponder over it, I need to find him and talk him down before he does something stupid,” Nakia insisted, turning and hurrying down the hall. 

Her last sight was of Okoye’s furious face as the general stared at the door to the council room, as if from sheer mental force alone she could blast it off its hinges. 

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Nakia knew T’Challa, knew him with memories that spanned back to the very early days of their childhood. From when they had only been five years old and running through the gardens until adulthood, when their friendship turned into something more.

First, she looked in the clearing behind the kitchen’s garden, a small clearing that she and T’Challa and W’Kabi used to hide in to avoid their chores. It was the clearing where T’Challa and W’Kabi had sparred with weapons long before they were permitted to use them in formal lessons, where the three of them had gotten drunk for the first time on stolen wine. 

It was the clearing where she and T’Challa had shared their first kiss at eighteen. 

He was not there, but she was not surprised; it was a clearing that held too many memories. If he had wanted to be alone…he would avoid all the places that she knew about. 

Well. 

Challenge accepted. 

She scoured the rest of the palace, running into Ramonda, who had left to search for her son as well. His kimoyo beads were disconnected, so she could not even track him this way. 

The Queen Mother and Nakia split up, taking opposite sides of the palace to search. 

She checked the labs, the empty guest rooms, the library, even the greenhouses and the mines. 

_Nothing._

Finally, frustration at an all-time high, she headed for the top of the mine shaft, on the overhang that was underneath the vibranium carving of a snarling panther.

Where T’Challa had brought Erik in the American’s last moments. 

Sitting there, legs dangling over the side, a bottle of Wakandan mead clutched in one hand, was T’Challa. 

He turned, enhanced senses letting him know she was there. He jumped to his feet, agile as a cat, anger and hurt twisting his handsome features. 

“For _Bast's sake,”_ T’Challa snarled under his breath, his muscles coiled and tensed, clearly trying to think of a way to get around and away from her. 

Nakia pointed at him and sternly commanded, “Do _not_ try to run from me, T’Challa, because I will bring you down in three moves.” 

“That was _one time,_ I was _sick!”_ T’Challa protested, but he reluctantly sat back down, watching as she crossed over to sit next to him. 

He was stiff, still angry, but she was not going to let him scare her off. The silence was heavy, awkward, full of tension and hurt.

Nakia waited until he took a long pull from the bottle, his face twisting at the bitterness of the alcohol. 

“I am sorry that we kept the truth from you, but it was not my place to tell you. Shuri wanted to do things on her own terms, and I did not want to take that choice from her.” 

She could almost _hear_ his teeth grinding against each other with how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

Nakia reached out and took the bottle of mead from his hands, taking a long sip and savoring the burn of alcohol as it slid down her throat.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, passing the bottle of mead back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

Finally, waiting him out worked. 

“Why did you let her do it?” T’Challa asked, turning to pierce her with the force of his gaze. 

“First of all, since when does ever trying to control Shuri actually work? And second, I did not know until after she had met with him,” Nakia admitted, picking at the label on the mead bottle with her thumbnail. “I found out afterwards, when she had told your mother. And she insisted that she would be the one to tell you after the battle.” 

“And you kept her secret,” T’Challa said, but not as a question; merely a proclamation of fact. 

“She had the right to tell you the way she wanted to. I do not know why M’Baku made the announcement the way that he did, since Shuri said he agreed to keep it a secret until after the battle, but you saw the look on her face. She was as blindsided as you.” 

Silence fell between the two of them again for a long moment. 

When T’Challa spoke, his voice was softer, less twisted with emotion and more heavy with reminiscence. 

“Do you remember the day she was born?” 

Nakia felt her lips twitch slightly into a nostalgic smile. 

_They had been twelve years old, almost thirteen. They had been in school, and T’Challa had been on the edge of his seat all day; his mother had gone to the hospital the night before, and they were just waiting for news now about his new sibling._

__

__

_When the bell had rung, the two of them had run all the way back to the palace. T’Challa had been faster than her even though she had been taller than him at that point, and just as he had whirled around to gloat, his father appeared in the doorway._

_King T’Chaka had a beaming smile on his face, and T’Challa had stumbled over his feet in his haste to look at his father._

_“Your little sibling is here,” T’Chaka announced._

_T’Challa and Nakia had been ushered into the Royal Quarters, and in the family sitting room was Queen Ramonda._

_She looked tired, but so_ breathtakingly _happy. She was wrapped in a fuzzy throw, but there was a bundle of blankets in her arms that was making gurgling noises and squirming._

_T’Challa had frozen in the doorway, and when his mother turned and looked at him, she beamed and went, “Come here,_ unyana wam, _your little sister has been anxiously waiting to meet you.”_

__

__

_Nakia had watched, hanging back to give the family a bit of space, as T’Challa hurried over to his mother’s side._

_T’Challa remembered what it was like to see Shuri for the first time like it was yesterday. She had been awake, a bright-eyed newborn baby. Already, she had fought her arms out of the swaddling, her tiny fists curled up and waving indignantly._

_He had sat down next to his mother, and she had carefully shifted his little sister into his arms, showing him the right way to cradle his arms so that he could support her tiny head._

_“This is Shuri,” Ramonda introduced the two._

_T’Challa had stared down at her and beamed at her, watching in fascination as she stared back at him with wide, wonder-filled eyes. Her tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers with surprising strength. Her skin was softer than rose petals, eyelashes so long they brushed the crests of her cheeks._

_“Hello,_ usisi omncinci,” _he gently jerked around her little fist, watching her every expression as she stared at him, “I am T’Challa, and I am your big brother. I will show you everything about Wakanda, about the world. And this is Nakia,” he looked up and locked eyes with his best friend, smiling at her, “She is my best friend, and she will teach you how to kick ass in the future-“_

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_“T’Challa,_ language!” _Ramonda scolded, laughing a bit._

__

__

_“Sorry, Mother! But while you will be the strongest, you will be able to do and be whatever you want. I will be here to protect you. Always. I promise.”_

_He had pressed a kiss to her tiny forehead, delighted by the squeak she emitted._

And from that moment onwards, she had him completely wrapped around her tiny fingers.

T’Challa sighed heavily. His eyes were shining, and Nakia reached out and took one of his hands tightly in hers. 

“I promised her, Nakia,” he whispered, “I promised her that I would protect her. I promised her that she would have the chance to be whatever she wanted to be, that she would be able to do whatever she wanted…and this is not what she wants, this is what she sacrificed for _me,_ and I would never, ever want her to do this…”

He swallowed hard and looked to the sky, as if gravity would force the tears back into his eyes. 

“Did she not trust in me? Did she not believe I would be able to win the battle? I have protected her all of her life…where did I go wrong, that she felt like she had to trade away her future?” 

Nakia chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of a way to put what she wanted to say into gentle words. 

Normally, she would not be gentle; she would have smacked T’Challa on the back of the head and lit into him about how he was being an idiot. She would have stood there, hands on her hips, and given him the lecture of a lifetime. 

But now…she had never, ever seen T’Challa this fragile, this unbalanced. 

This was an instance where her normal mode of dealing with him would not be the best. 

So she was going to have to improvise. 

Nakia took the bottle and took a long sip, before passing it back to T’Challa, who drained the rest of it in one go. 

She was still holding one of his hands, and she gently rubbed her thumb over his knuckles before she went softly, “I think you are too blinded by your own emotions right now to see clearly.” 

T’Challa gave her a wounded look, and she quickly hurried to try and explain herself. 

“No, not like that! T’Challa…when did you allow yourself to grieve for your father?” 

His face twisted, the echo of grief that had not gone away or lessened coming to the forefront of his mind. 

She pressed on gently, “You are emotionally compromised right now, and I do not blame you for that. Look at the shit show these past few days, _Bast,_ the past few weeks have been? If you were not a little bit messed up from them, I would be concerned.” 

Nakia shifted slightly, bringing them closer, holding onto his hand with both of hers. 

“Because of that…you are making it about you. Shuri has lost her father as well, and then…we thought you _dead._ We could do nothing but stand there as Killmonger murdered Zuri, threw you over the falls…we ran in the dead of night thinking that you were gone forever.”

“Shuri knows better than anyone in this country the damage that her weapons and technology can do. And she may be young, but she is not as naive as you think she is to the tragedies of the world. She is the one to read all the War Dog mission reports, is the one to create the weaponry for each mission, is the one to make sure that our medical treatments are up to par with what they need to be.” 

“Shuri deals in science, in mathematics and odds and statistics. And for that time when we thought you gone…she ran the odds. She knew that there was no choice, we needed the Jabari, and she was not going to risk anything or leave the fate of Wakanda to chance.” 

“She was raised the same as you were, T’Challa, as a princess, a monarch. She knows her duty, knows the terrible privilege that comes with her station. And she would have rather given herself to M’Baku than risk Wakanda falling into the hands of a fanatic.” 

“She should have trusted in me,” T’Challa insisted, still vehemently _not seeing the point._

Nakia rolled her eyes and allowed herself to be a little bit meaner this time. She smacked T’Challa lightly on the shoulder, and when he made a noise of protest, she continued in a stronger voice, “You are missing the _point,_ you _royal idiot._ Just because she made this alliance does not mean that she thought you were going to lose, or that she did not have faith in your protecting her or Wakanda. She did it because she wanted to _protect you,_ wanted to _protect Wakanda,_ and was not going to leave anything to chance when she knew she could do something about it. What does Shuri always say?” 

T’Challa’s face softened slightly as he remembered what his sister would always throw into his face when she ran off to make a new design, or an improvement to a piece of her technology. 

“'Just because something works, does not mean that it can’t be improved.’"

“Exactly,” Nakia sighed, letting her head fall heavily onto T’Challa’s shoulders. He quickly moved to wrap one of his arms around her, keeping his other firmly wrapped around her free hands. Together, they sat there in the silence, savoring the peace. 

“She is still your baby sister,” Nakia reminded him after the lull had passed a bit, “And she is going to need you, now more than ever before.” 

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Shuri will admit - several hours, a good crying jag, and a very hot shower later - that she had been a _bit_ dramatic with that ending. 

Wrapped up in a pair of loose, comfortable training pants she had stolen from T’Challa several years ago, and an old shirt of there Baba’s that she had worn to bed almost every night since he had died, she crossed her room to the balcony.

She loved this part of her room; situated near the back of the palace, she was close to her labs and overlooked the wide, open plains leading to the jungle in front of her. 

At night, it was dim enough that she could see the stars. 

The sun was going to set soon; the sky was streaked with pale pinks, oranges and reds bleeding into each other. 

Her Baba used to say that there was nothing more beautiful than a Wakandan sunset. 

She buried herself into one of the plush hammocks she had hung from the terrace cover on her balcony, wrapped her arms around her legs and drew them up close to her chest, making herself into as small of a ball as possible. 

She had cried out all her tears earlier; all she left was a raging headache from the sobs, and an empty, aching feeling in her chest. 

There was no one to run to, no one to hold her this time.

Baba was gone, T’Challa was furious - rightfully so - with her, and Okoye and Nakia and all the others were wrapped up in their duties. 

W’Kabi, the closed thing she had to another brother, a cousin, had turned against them. He would have stood there with a blank look on his face while her own cousin killed her. 

Another betrayal, another hurt that would take time to heal.

This was not who she was…wallowing was not something she did. She moved forward, made jokes, lightened the mood. She fixed things and made things better, invented things to save lives and protect her home. 

But that strength that sustained her was sapped now; she felt empty, in a way she had not been since the first night when they told her Baba was dead. 

So she stayed there, alone, knees tight to her chest, as the sun set on one of the worst days she had experienced in a while. 

And she closed her swollen eyes, the last of the sun warming her face.

As the fell asleep, she felt the phantom sensation of a hand on her hair, a warm palm against her cheek; the cool sensation of a ring that now rest on T’Challa’s finger, but one she used to fiddle with when she held onto her father’s hand as a child. 

_Rest, my daughter,_ she felt more than heard as she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, a lone tear rolling down her face as she thought the words along with phantom memory of what her father would tell her whenever things got difficult and she would cry into his shoulder, _“The sun will rise tomorrow, and we will try again."_

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Shuri woke up to the blinding, warm sun; a quick glance at her beads told her that she had slept in much later than she normally did, rising just before noon. A minor miracle, with the brightness of the sun pounding down on her. 

She could not find the energy to change in the morning, or even to move from the hammock. She stayed in the same clothes she had gone to sleep in, could not bring herself to venture out into the palace right then. She watched the birds fly from the trees, tracked people walking across the fields, let the wind caress her face.

Her stomach ached, but the thought of eating made her nauseous. Even the thought of all she needed to do - clean up her lab, fixing the holes in defenses, everything on her list from the Council meeting - could not motivate her to leave her room at the moment.

Some time later, a small ping on her kimoyo beads roused her out of the fog she had descended in, staring off into space.

She outstretched her hand, and the hologram formed in the shape of her mother. 

“Shuri,” her mother started, a mild scolding tone in her voice, but it faded into concern as she continued, “Are you going to come out of your room at all today?” 

“Mama, please…” Shuri sighed, unable to bring herself to explain how she just felt so _drained._

Ramonda’s face softened as she got a better look at the exhaustion on her daughter’s face. 

“I need to speak to some Council members, but in a little bit, I will bring some lunch to you and we will eat on your balcony and talk, alright?” 

Shuri nodded, comforted by the attention of her mother, and thrilled that she would not have to go out and see anyone else. 

The thought of maybe running into M’Baku in the halls made her want to scream. 

The thought of maybe running into T’Challa and seeing him look at her with anger made her want to crumble. 

So she stayed where she was, stiff and a more than a little sore, but safely tucked away from everyone else in the palace. 

About an hour later, there was a small notification on her kimoyo beads again. Someone was requesting entrance to her quarters. 

She accepted it without thought, thinking that it was her mother with the lunch she had promised to bring up. She tilted her head back, turning slightly so she could see the door that lead into her quarters, a small smile on her lips as she waited for her mother to come into view.

And almost tipped out of the hammock in shock. 

There, standing in the doorway and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, was her brother. 

He was dressed in a tunic and loose pants, not nearly as formal as yesterday; he must have been in his office all that morning doing work, not meeting with anyone important. 

T’Challa looked…uncomfortable, guilty, his eyes wide and his shoulders hunched like a kicked puppy. In his hands were two mugs, steaming, and even from a distance she could smell the spiced Wakandan hot chocolate that their mother used to make for them.

Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment, before T’Challa asked softly, “May we talk?” 

Shuri scrambled out of the hammock, almost tangling herself up in it more. She nodded, her mouth dry and her voice not working, but she motioned to the other side of the balcony, where there was a comfortable couch and a small table.

The two siblings sat down, and T’Challa passed her a mug of the hot chocolate. She inhaled deeply, the bite of the spice and the comforting scent of the chocolate soothing her ragged nerves. 

After the first careful sip, she was struck by how hungry she actually was, and took several large gulps before she wrapped her fingers around it, drawing comfort from the warm. 

“Shuri…” T’Challa started, before hesitating, taking a sip of his own drink to cover up the awkward silence that fell. 

Shuri felt her hands start to shake, and she clutched the ceramic mug tighter to try and steady herself. She stared down at the mug as if it held all the secrets of the universe, unable to bring herself to look at her brother. 

T’Challa studied his sister for a long moment, his heart aching in his chest. 

Shuri’s eyes were swollen, the whites tinged red from what must have been several hours of tears the night before. She was clutching the mug in her hands so hard that she was in danger of breaking it.

There was always a strange sort of dual-vision he got whenever he looked at Shuri during moments of transition and change. 

She was the strong, proud, feisty teenager but she was also the bright-eyed, vivacious toddler that had held onto his finger in an iron grip as she waddled on unsteady legs after him. She was the inventor, the genius who constantly provided their country with more and more, but she was also the little girl with a gap-toothed smile who used to wait anxiously at the door for him to come home from school so they could play together. 

She was the Princess of Wakanda, now engaged to be married, but in the heart of his hearts, she would always be his little sister who cried in his arms when scared by the thunder and lightning, the hours-old baby that his mother had laid in his arms and he swore to protect. 

When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were glassy with tears, and his heart broke even more at the look of hesitation and distress on her face. 

She started babbling, the words pouring out of her like water from a broken dam. 

“I am so, so _sorry_ brother, I did not mean to keep it from you, to hide it from you, but you would have turned away the aid, I couldn’t risk Killmonger winning, I couldn’t risk your life again, but I was going to tell you after the Council meeting, I swear I was, I told M'Baku to wait until I told you but he didn’t, he blindsided you in front of everyone and I am so sorry, I-“

“Shuri-“ he tried to cut in, but she dropped the mug roughly onto the table and all but threw herself into his arms before he got the words out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ She repeated over and over, her voice muffled against his shoulder. 

It was an awkward angle, her chin digging into his shoulder painfully and her braids were getting into his mouth, but his arms came up and wrapped around her tightly. He put his own empty mug on the table, before his hand cupping the back of her head and pressing her face tighter into the curve of his neck.

It was instinct, second-nature, to hug her, to comfort; long before he had been the perfect prince, before he had really learned the mantle of the Black Panther…he had been a protector, a brother. It was a part of him that was as easy as breathing. 

And like most of their life, he could not stay angry at her for long. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered against her hair, “And I forgive you. I do, I forgive you. You did what you thought was best for Wakanda, and I know you would never have tried to hide it from me for longer than absolutely necessary. You are my sister…my baby sister, and I just wanted to protect you from this.” 

Shuri shuddered in his arms, and he felt wetness against his skin. He closed his eyes tightly, holding onto her even more firmly as she started to cry again. 

“You promise you are not angry with me?” 

Her voice was sad, brittle, fragile. 

He hated that he had been partly responsible for it. 

T’Challe pressed a kiss against the top of her head; she was relaxing slightly in his hug, but she did not pull back. 

“I promise. And Shuri…I am so sorry.” 

She tilted her head back, so that she could look him in the eye, her tear-stained face twisted in confusion. She still kept her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tight in the loose fabric of his tunic. 

“What are you talking about, what are you sorry for? This is all my fault, it is all my doing-“

“I am sorry because I was blinded by everything that had happened to me, without taking a moment to think about the fact that you had experienced them too.” 

His words were enough to stun his sister into silence. 

T’Challa cupped her shoulders, shaking her slightly to emphasize his words. 

“You were hurt too, you lost Baba as well. You watched that battle and saw me thrown from the falls. You had to flee the only home you knew, with the threat of death on your tail. You lost a cousin as well, and you were hurt by W’Kabi’s betrayal too. You traded your future for Wakanda’s, and I know you were just as blindsided by M’Baku as I was. I am so sorry that I did not act like it, that I was just another person adding pain onto your shoulders. I am sorry that I hurt you as well.”

Shuri stared back at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish while she tried to think through the shock. 

T’Challa pressed a kiss against her forehead, and finally drew a smile out of her. 

“You are always going to have me in your corner, I promise you that.” 

Shuri smiled brightly at him, looking hopeful for the first time since everything happened. 

“We will find a way, together, to make this work,” T’Challa insisted, shaking her a bit with his movement, “You will not have to give up anything in the future for this, I will make sure of it. You will still be able to stay here, in the palace, if you want, with your inventions and your lab. I won’t let him take that from you, I won’t let him try.” 

Shuri wrapped T’Challa in another hug, a huge portion of the burden raising off of her shoulders; she had her mother and her brother on her side. She could face the world in its entirety with that knowledge, with that support.

“Thank you, brother,” she whispered against his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder, before smirking up him, “Who knows, maybe he will get so irritated with me he breaks of the engagement himself.”

T’Challa chuckled; he knew his sister, knew her will, and idly thought for a moment that M’Baku had absolutely no idea what kind of opponent he was going to have to deal with. 

“If anyone can bring down Chief M’Baku with words alone, it would be you, _usisi omncinci."_

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.

_**Three Days Later** _

M’Baku watched with barely concealed shock as Shuri walked into the room in full ceremonial clothing. 

She was even wearing the corset she had complained about, but not a hint of discomfort showed on her perfectly polite, blank face. 

Her braids were pinned up in buns, the beaded-and-bone headpiece perfectly framing her face. Her back was straight, her shoulders back.

She looked every inch a princess. 

The Council Members all watched in silence as she crossed the room, sitting daintily down on the chair reserved for her to the left of her brother’s. Her hands rested primly in her lap, delicately folded together.

The chairs that had been broken during his tussle with T’Challa at the last meeting were all replaced, and a circular table had been bought in for this meeting.

The Queen Mother stood up, a small packet of paper in her hands. 

“I come forward with the betrothal agreement for my daughter, Crown Princess Shuri of Wakanda.” 

She placed the papers on the table, sliding them across to M’Baku. 

“As per the agreement reached before the Great Mound Battle, Chief M’Baku of the Jabari and Princess Shuri will be wed at a to-be-determined date after her coming of age. I stand as her witness for the signing of the betrothal agreement, as the Princess has not yet reached seventeen and thus cannot sign for herself. Once her birthday passes in three months, she will sign the document for herself in a formal meeting.”

T’Challa stood this time, his face carefully blank and diplomatic. 

“Because the Princess has duties that require her to be in the palace, she will continue to reside here. For the foreseeable future, she is the Heiress to the Throne, and is needed in the Golden City. There will be supervised courting meetings while you are acquainted with one-another.” 

M’Baku raised an eyebrow at that little tidbit, unable to keep himself from showing his own surprise at just how traditional this betrothal agreement was.

Shuri’s face was serene when her gaze met his; it was like looking at a calm lake, not a single hint of what lurks below. 

He was a little disconcerted that he could not read her expressions; she had been such an open book for most of their interactions. Being confronted with her placid expression was like having a door slammed in his face.

M’Baku flipped through the betrothal agreement, nothing more in it surprising him. It was merely a pronouncement that he and the princess would be married, that any harm inflicted would be grounds to immediately end the engagement without consequence, and that the Princess would not be forced to leave the Golden City. 

Politically, it was pretty straight forward. Even when they married, she would still be the Crown Princess of Wakanda until T’Challa had an heir, and then she would simply be the Princess. Yet he would simply be the Prince Consort, which he was no upset by. In Jabari territory, she would be the Chieftess after their marriage, equal to him in the eyes of Jabari law. Any children they had would be added to the line of succession after T’Challa’s children, but they would still be eligible for Jabari leadership.

Politically, Shuri would have the greater power in their marriage by the sake of her being from the Royal Family; in honesty…he was surprised by how unbothered by this he was. 

“I accept the terms laid out in the betrothal agreement,” he intoned. 

Queen Ramonda stood, and handed him the small knife and a vibranium fountain pen.

He took the knife, pricked his thumb hard enough to draw blood. He pressed his fingerprint next to the line, and then signed his name. 

Shuri took the document next, signing on the line only. She would add her own bloody thumbprint once she was of age, and then the document would become essentially unbreakable. 

Queen Ramonda then took the betrothal agreement, pricking her own thumb to press a bloody print to the paper and signing beneath her daughter’s name as the witness. 

“By blood, the agreement is sealed,” Ramonda intoned, her eyes sharp and cold as she stared him down across the table. 

She was a far cry from the warm woman he had given his word to a handful of days ago.

The Council Elders clapped politely, but M’Baku knew that they were uncertain about this marriage; knew that many of them had hoped that a member of their tribe would be the one to eventually marry the princess. He knew that this was just the beginning of a long road, and not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a huge mistake. 

.

.

.

.

The meeting came to an end swiftly after that, and he crossed the room to where Shuri was standing by the window with her brother and the Dora General. 

Conversation stopped as soon as he got close to them. 

“My king,” M’Baku inclined his head to T’Challa, before he turned to Shuri, “Princess.”

“Congratulations on the betrothal,” T’Challa said mildly, “I hope that the partnership between our people will continue to be as easy.” 

“I hope so as well,” M’Baku replied. 

He turned to Shuri, and T’Challa took the unspoken hint; with a quick look at his sister, he inclined his head and gracefully walked away, but the Dora General did not move. Instead, she stayed a few steps back from them, her hand tight on her spear, her eyes glaring holes into the side of his face. 

Ignoring her for the moment, he turned to his betrothed - his _betrothed_ \- and found himself at a loss for what to say to her. 

Shuri met his gaze and spoke first. 

“How may I be of service to you, Chief M’Baku?” 

Her voice was airy, polite, and sweet. 

And very, very fake. 

“I must return to Jabari land tonight,” he said, thrown slightly off-balance by the lack of anger he had expected from her, “and I am sure you have duties you must fulfill as well. I will return in a few weeks for the first of our…courting meetings.” 

Shuri smiled blankly at him, a smile as cold and empty as a porcelain doll's. 

“I wish you a safe journey back to your home, and success in whatever you must deal with.” 

M’Baku felt his brow furrow together, and he knew the confusion was clear on his face. 

This was not what he expected. 

He had expected anger, cold glares, bitter words and barbed insults. He had expected the firebrand of a girl he had interacted with before, the one who stood toe-to-toe with him with not a single drop of fear. 

This…pale mimicry of her was disconcerting. 

“Thank you, princess,” he found his own words were becoming cold and civil as well, unbearable polite and fake in his mouth, “I will see you when I return.” 

“You will,” she inclined her head one last time, before she turned and walked serenely out of the room, head held high, not a trace of unsteady emotion to be seen as she accepted more congratulations from the council members. 

His eyes followed her as she walked away, and he fought to ignore the irrational feeling of _loss_ that slid through his veins like ice water.

.

.

.

.

M’Baku shouldered his bag as he left the quarters that had been given to him for the duration of his stay. He crossed it quickly, opening the door only to come face-to-face with the last person he expected. 

The general, Okoye, was leaning against the wall across from his room, the same burning look of anger on her face that she had worn in the Council meeting earlier.

“May I help you?” He asked, figuring that she had been sent by T’Challa to fetch him before he left. He was waiting for the King to confront him about his actions when he announced the engagement; he figured that this was it. 

“I wished to have a quick word with you before you left for your home, Chief M’Baku,” Okoye responded, tilting her head to the side for a moment, studying him. 

Curiosity piqued, he closed the door behind him and stepped further into the hall.

“How may I be of service?” He asked. 

Quicker than he could track, she had her spear pressed tightly to his throat, the sharp edge digging into his skin with every inhale and exhale. He twitched in surprise, but immediately froze when she pressed the blade harder against him. 

“I have watched over the princess since she was barely more than a child,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “I love her as if she were my own daughter, and I wanted to make you a promise, right here and now.” 

She leaned closer, until she was barely a foot from him. 

“I do not know what kind of man would accept a betrothal agreement to a girl who is not yet old enough to sign one herself, but it is not one I think highly of. If you ever, and I mean _ever,”_ Okoye threatened, “hurt the princess, intentionally or unintentionally, there is no where on this earth that you will be able to hide from me or the Dora Milaje. I do not care about politics or alliances or the consequences, I will find you and _I will bring you down._ If I ever see her look at you with even the _slightest_ amount of fear, if she so much as _flinches_ when you move near her…I will _end you._ You will suffer seven times whatever you do to her, and she will _not_ keep your secret,” and here Okoye smirked viciously, like a lioness that had caught her prey and was seconds away from devouring it, “Am I understood?” 

M’Baku met her gaze fully, answered her with complete seriousness. 

He knew better than to not take her threat seriously. She would gut him in an instant and not feel a second of guilt for it. 

“Perfectly.” 

.

.

.

.

_**Oakland, California  
Two Weeks Later** _

Shuri stared around her, at the chain-link fences and the broken windows, and turned back to her brother with her eyebrows raised. 

"When you said you would take me to California for the first time…I thought you meant Coachella. Or Disneyland.” 

T’Challa rolled his eyes at his sister’s words, but walked a little bit further along the fence, staring up at the large, abandoned apartment building. The sound of the young boys playing basketball behind them reminded him that although he was here for a reason, this was their _home._ This was where they lived and played, and for most of them, this is where they would live and die.

He needed to be cognizant of that. He would not let himself be blinded, be ignorant, not with something as important as this. 

T’Challa motioned to the building, his voice solemn as he told her, “This is where our father killed our uncle.” 

Shuri’s face turned serious immediately, her eyes taking in the sight with new eyes. 

“They are tearing it down,” she inclined her head to the signs posted all along the building, bold letters saying CONDEMNED: KEEP OUT. 

“Good.” 

T’Challa turned to her, the first hints of humor on his face as he drew out his announcement a bit longer. 

“They are not tearing it down. I bought this building. And that building. And that one over there.” 

Shuri turned to him in disbelief, but he simply smiled at her, excited to see her reaction. 

“This will be the first of the Wakandan International Outreach Centers. Nakia will oversee the social outreach…and you will spearhead the science and information exchange.” 

A bright, breathless smile spread across his little sister’s face. Her eyes lit up, happiness that he had not seen since before everything happened illuminating her from the inside out. 

She was as bright as the sun in that moment. 

“You’re kidding!” 

“No, I am not,” he threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side and jostling her from side-to-side jokingly, “You are going to help us step out into the international arena. And there is no one better for it. Ready to show the scientific world just how behind they all are?” 

Shuri threw her head back, and a smug smile on her face. 

“Oh brother, I was _born ready!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xhosa Translations (from Google Translate):  
>  _unyana wam_ \- my son  
>  _usisi omncinci_ \- little sister
> 
> *****
> 
> thank you all so, so much for the comments, kudos, and subscriptions! 
> 
> this chapter took me a while to rework, but i hope you like it! i don't think that T'Challa would ever stay mad at Shuri for long, but i _definitely_ think that Shuri can hold a grudge until the end of time. M'Baku is going to have to *grovel* for forgiveness.
> 
> brownie points to whoever can guess where parts of Okoye's threatening speech to M'Baku came from!
> 
> please drop me a comment, let me know how you feel about this chapter! 
> 
> from now on, it's going to be a bit fluffier, more exploring the relationship between our lovely princess and favorite Jabari chief and everything that occurs between the end of the movie and Infinity War. 
> 
> (sneak peak, a certain metal-armed super soldier will make an appearance in the next chapter!) 
> 
> come fangirl with me on [tumblr!](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/) it's a bit empty right now since i revamped it, but come keep my company anyway :D (spoiler alert now for infinity war posts)


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Corrupt a man’s heart with a gift // That’s how you find out who you dealin’ with”_  
>  \- “All The Stars,” Kendrick Lamar, SZA 
> 
>  
> 
> “You were my best friend,” W’Kabi flinched at the use of the past tense, but T’Challa did not falter, “And I will forgive you, in time, for losing your faith in me. I know…I _know_ what it feels to be blinded by grief, to do things you deeply regret once you can see clearly. I failed to fulfill my promise, and for that, I am sorry.” 
> 
> T’Challa’s voice turned harsh, sharp and grating as he tried viciously to keep himself from yelling at W’Kabi. 
> 
> “But I do not know how to forgive you for how you treated Okoye, and above all…I will never be able to forgive you for how your actions have condemned Shuri.”

_**March 6th** _  
_**One Month Post-"The Great Mound Battle”** _  
_**Wakanda** _

“Boy, if you do not _stay still -"_

“‘Boy?’ Doll, I am almost a century old.”

Shuri gave Bucky a truly impressive deadpanned expression for a girl that was sassing a man who had a death count that was close to four figures. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but stopped messing around and actually stood still.

Shuri waved her hands through the air, the holograms and the scanners whirling around him. The blue lights of her lab were skimming over his skin, sending information back to Shuri who was studying the numbers intently.

“What is the verdict?” He called, rolling his shoulders slightly to ease the tension. 

“You can relax for a second, I am just waiting for my equations to run,” Shuri called back, her eyes tracking the numbers at a speed that was almost inhuman. 

Bucky let his right arm fall down loosely to his side; his left shoulder was covered in sensors, but of course, he had been living without his arm for a while now. 

“How do you feel about an arm that can turn into a blaster?” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Are you kidding?”

“…okay, that’s a ‘no’ then.” 

Bucky flopped down onto the chair next to her desk, propping his foot up against the leg of the table; normally, she would immediately yell at him to “Show _respect_ in my lab!” but she was engrossed in what she was doing, her slender fingers tapping on her keyboard at a rapid pace. 

He recognized some of the scans up in the air as one she had taken of him before the start of his recovery, and a few others that she had taken throughout the course of it. 

Shuri had healed the physical damage to his brain - the scar tissue from the electricity, the damage caused by repeated blunt-force traumas, and the whole other gift basket that Hydra had so fucking kindly left in his skull - while he was in the ice. 

Physically, his brain was healthy, as healed as it could get. 

Mentally, he had a lot of shit that he had to deal with. 

Surprisingly…a lot of it got easier when he asked Shuri to take his left arm off. 

It had been taken off for him to be frozen, of course, but when he had been removed from cryo, they had attached a place-holder for him. The one they had taken off originally - the one Hydra had given him - was destroyed, thankfully. 

Shuri’s eyes had burned like fire when she had looked at the schematics for it, furious for the blatant lack of care that had been put into its designs. The exposed wires, the heavy metal, how they had not put any care or effort into making sure that his arm would not hurt the remaining muscle and nerves…

And then the miniaturized bombs implanted, in case he had ever gone rogue.

He had hated having the place-holder arm on. It had been able to respond like a real arm, without the strength of the Hydra design, but he had been unable to seperate the past from the present when he awoke from nightmares when all he saw when he looked down was smooth metal.

So, he asked Shuri to remove it. 

She had looked at him a little uncertainly, but she had taken it off for him. And immediately…things got easier. 

There was a part of him that knew he would be deadly with just one hand - too many decades of training for him to just ignore his skills - but waking up and _knowing_ with certainty that he did not have a weapon attached to him...it made it easier for him to come back to himself. 

Therapy within Wakanda was fantastic. He went every other day in the beginning to A’Beo, the therapist that was a retired Wardog, who had experience in harsh post-traumatic-stress disorder - _syndrome,_ he reminded himself, as A’Beo had told him several times that it was starting to be reclassified - and who had not batted an eye at his file. 

And the anonymous gift of the BARF system - which Shuri had rolled her eyes at and then went forward to improve, give to A’Beo for Bucky’s therapy, and then send the improved schematics back to Tony Stark - had helped him overcome the trigger words, even if those intense sessions left him with the mother of all headaches. 

He would _gladly_ endure however many headaches it would take if it meant that he would never have to be triggered into being the Winter Soldier.

It had been A’Beo who had showed up at Bucky's tiny hut on the outskirts of the royal lands, two baby goats in tow. 

“Meet Brooke and Lynne,” A’Beo had announced with a wry grin, gently lifting the two baby goats into the empty pen that was outside of Bucky’s cabin. 

“You’re kidding me,” Bucky had said, crouching down near the fence to watch the two goats roam around, exploring their new home. 

“Well, they are kids, so I guess I technically am ‘kidding’ you,” A’Beo had said, to Bucky’s eye roll. 

“They are Pygmy goats, originally from Cameroon. They are very docile, don’t really need much space. These two are from a friend of mine who raises therapy animals. Thought you could have two things to focus your time on.” 

“And the names?”

“Oh, that was me being funny.” 

Surprisingly, the goats had helped. Having two little things depending on him, having something to focus on caring for, had gone a long way to keep him from spiraling in his own thoughts when he was alone. 

Needless to say, his recovery was going smoothly, or at least, as smoothly as they could go.

He was not completely cured; he doubted he ever would be. But he was leagues and leagues above where he had been in Bucharest, running and hiding and trying to piece together the fractured remains of his memories, and that was what mattered. 

Bucky was drawn out of his musings when Shuri waved her hand in front of his face, bringing him back to himself. 

“Okay, so, obviously we are eventually going to work your way back to having an arm, I just need you to try on a few and let me take some scans, let me know about the weight distribution, and then I will take it back off. You don’t have to use it ever, but I would like to have one ready for you in case you ever change your mind. Also, how is the new base feeling?” 

A few weeks ago, Shuri had overseen his surgery to make a new base port in his shoulder, one that would not pull and hurt his bones and muscles. It was light, made of vibranium, of course, and she was even able to cut down on the scar tissue that had been left to build up. 

“It is fine, no twinges or anything. I am still waiting for the time I go near the water and I get electrocuted.” 

“You aren’t, I promise, I insulated it and everything. Unless you pealed all the protective coverings off each individual wire, you are not going to get electrocuted.” 

Shuri waved a hologram through the air towards him. He could see the outline of his shoulder, the metal and port for his arm shown clearly as well. 

“Your nerves have grown into the pathways perfectly. You will be able to feel textures and temperature through your new arm, but you will not feel pain. The pain receptors have been too damaged for even me to fix, but if you ever decide to fight again, it might be better that you could not feel pain.” 

He nodded, sending the hologram back to Shuri. 

“Come on, stand up soldier boy, we need to try out some arms here.” 

“You know,” he drawled, the strange mix of his Brooklyn and Russian accents he had accumulated coming into play, “I was a sergeant in the army if you want to get my title right.” 

Shuri met his eyes and put her hands on her hips. 

“Unless you want to be forced to start calling me ‘Princess,’ don’t start with me, white boy.” 

Bucky chuckled, before crossing the room to where she was standing by a table with several prototypes of arms laid out. 

He loved bantering with her back and forth like this. 

Shuri was one of the few people in Wakanda - not including her brother, Ayo, and Okoye - who did not flinch when they saw him, who spoke to him and laughed with him like he was a real person.

There was something about her that reminded him of Rebecca, his spunky little sister who would run around the streets of Brooklyn, all scraped knees and ripped dresses, to his mother’s despair. He had taught her how to throw a punch to defend herself and then regretted it immediately when she almost broke his nose when he scared her. 

Shuri had offered to find him information about his sister, but he hadn’t found the will to say yes; he knew she had married and had a family, knew that she had died at a ripe old age surrounded by all those that loved her, but _knowing_ it and _reading_ it were two different things that he was not ready for. 

But he loved moments like this in Shuri's lab; there was something about being there, about seeing her inventions and the holograms that reminded him of the Bucky he had once been, the sarcastic little shit that dragged Steve and their double dates to the Stark Expo to see all the technology they might have in the future. The part of him that was fascinated by science, by futuristic technology, that would have literally squealed like a school-girl at the sight of a flying car.

He never thought that he would end up in said future, but there were moments like this when he could see how far the world had come that he thought it might almost be a little bit worth it. 

“Alright, here we go, arm number one,” Shuri announced, grabbing the first prototype off of a table and coming over to his side. 

Once it was attached, he felt a rush of sensations as the arm interfaced with the port, and he was suddenly able to feel from the left side. 

It went on like that for a while, Shuri taking the arms on and off, running scans and asking him about how they felt. 

The best fitting arm in his opinion was the third out of the five she had given to him to try on; it was a black that looked dark gray in the light. It was lighter than he thought possible, with small golden seams throughout the panels. 

Shuri took the arm and kept it separate from the others, packing it into the protective case that she had on the side. 

“I will have it here in the lab, if you ever decide you want it. I know Okoye wants to spar with you when you have your left arm so she has bragging rights for taking you down when you’re at the top of your game.” 

Bucky laughed; he honestly loved training with the Dora, and although he and Okoye were currently tied with regards to who won their spars, he knew that it would be a tough match even with his arm. She was so hard to fight; the Dora’s fighting style was so different, a style that he had never encountered before, even with all of his years of experience. 

Shuri turned to him with a cheeky grin on her face, one of the arms prototype in each hand. 

“Hey, Bucky…need a hand?”

There was a split second of silence in the lab and then Bucky groaned loudly, covering his eyes with his hand. 

“I _hate_ you…that was the _worst.”_

Shuri cackled maniacally, her back bending backwards as she laughed so hard that her ribs actually started to hurt. 

Bucky groaned under his breath at her shitty puns, before lurching forward to grab one of the metal arms out of her hand. 

It very quickly devolved into the two of them mockingly sword-fighting with the prototype arms, smacking each other away and trying to lightly smack the other on the sides. 

They were so involved in their mini-joking battle, that when there was a sound of a throat clearing, they froze in place like kids that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar; Bucky with the prototype arm raised up over his head like a club, Shuri extending hers to smack him in the side.

In the doorway was Queen Ramonda, and the tall man standing behind her was someone Bucky recognized, but had never met before: Chief M’Baku. 

Shuri did not speak about her betrothed, and he had never asked about it. He knew from the gossip of the castle workers and those that lived in the village by his cabin that the betrothal had happened, and that it would be formally cemented when Shuri turned seventeen in a few months and could sign it herself. That was also when the entirety of the document would be made public, by Wakandan law. Until then, the general population could only speculate about what the betrothal would entail, or even when the marriage would happen. 

Instantly composing himself, Bucky stood up straight and wiped his face of all emotion. He carefully laid the prototype arm on the table behind him, watching in slight concern as Shuri immediately changed before his eyes. 

All the time that they had been together, she had been warm, smiling, open. In the course of several seconds, she was standing straighter, shoulders back, chin up, a polite expression on her face and all emotion hidden. 

She looked…less like the approachable, funny teenager that he had become friends with and more the remote, cold princess persona that he imagined she modeled after Okoye. 

As he turned to catalogue Chief M’Baku, Bucky found himself inwardly grateful that he had never been on the receiving end of a look like that from Shuri.

Even his times in cryo had not been _that_ cold.

.

.

.

.

M’Baku had only had a split moment when he was in the entryway to her lab to see Shuri unguarded. 

She was dressed in American-style jeans, a pair of white sneakers on her feet. Her braids were loose around her face, only a few pinned back to keep them from falling into her face. Her shirt was loose, gathered and tucked into her jeans in the front. There was a saying screen-printed across her chest, the words “NASA” with the symbol behind it, the sleeves rolled up closer to her narrow shoulders. 

She had had her head thrown back in laughter, a prototype metal arm in her hands as she playfully fought against the white man in her lab, who was fighting her with another prototype arm. 

She looked…so _happy._

The moment that Queen Ramonda cleared her throat to get their attention, Shuri spun around. Her eyes widened in shock, and then immediately, she locked every emotion behind thick walls, become the ice-cold but perfectly polite princess she had been the last time he had seen her. 

He felt regret pool in his chest at the shift in expression, along with something he did not want to examine as _jealously_ when he realized the person she had been so unguarded with was the White Wolf, the reformed assassin that T’Challa had welcomed into Wakanda for treatment. 

“Daughter,” Queen Ramonda announced with some humor hidden beneath her serious demeanor, “You and Chief M’Baku have the first of your courting meetings.” 

Shuri’s expression flickered, and M’Baku would almost bet money on it that she had gotten so wrapped up in her inventions and designs that she had forgotten. 

“Of course,” she said, straightening herself and turning to put the arm down on the table. 

“Sergeant Barnes, if you’ll excuse me, I will see you tomorrow for the final readout of your measurements, if that’s alright?” 

Barnes nodded, his face solemn and serious as he looked down at the princess before his eyes flickered up to meet M’Baku’s. 

For a long moment, the two men stood there and postured over Shuri’s head, but then Bucky got a smug look in his eye. 

Ducking down quickly, he pressed a kiss against the top of Shuri’s head, muttering something to her in what sounded like Russian - Shuri laughed, since when did she speak Russian? - before he turned and left the lab, tipping his head politely to the Queen as he went. 

“Queen Ramonda, Chief M’Baku, if you’ll excuse me.”

M’Baku tried to keep himself from visibly reacting, but there was no way he would have been able to hide how his hand reflexively tightened at his sides, everything in him itching to start a fight with the ex-assassin. 

Shuri was still smiling indulgently after the American - and there it went again, that bitter pool of jealousy that M’Baku was _definitely ignoring_ \- before she motioned behind her, “One moment please, I am just going to save and shut down this project.” 

M’Baku took the moment she was busy to look around her lab. 

It was everything he expected and some portions were well beyond what he imagined. 

There was a large, bold wall within the lab that was painted with a mural, the bright colors cheerful and happy. There were tables all throughout the lab laden with half-finished projects, and a few interns here and there that were working on their own projects. Holograms were in the air, showing schematics and designs with long lists of equations next to them. In the furthest corner of the lab, near the windows that overlooked the vibranium mine, were mannequins clothed in the Black Panther armor; they must be prototypes for T’Challa. 

Shuri waved her fingers through the air, making all the floating holograms disappear, rearranging the prototype metal arms into an order he did not understand, before turning back to them. 

“Alright, I am ready. Shall we go to the gardens?” 

.

.

.

.

Queen Ramonda had given her approval for the gardens, so together, the whole hoard of them walked throughout the palace. 

She had thought that “supervised” courting meetings meant just her mother, or maybe even Nakia or Okoye. Instead, it was her mother, their Dora guards - Ayo and Ileara this time - and then M’Baku’s own guards, a man and a women with solemn faces and white paint on their faces. 

So, all in all, it was a giant entourage for a meeting that _neither_ of them were happy about. 

Fantastic.

Together, she and M’Baku walked side-by-side up the paths throughout the gardens, an awkward amount of space between the two of them. Her mother followed a few steps behind, and then behind her were Ayo and Ileara, and then behind them were M’Baku’s guards. 

Shuri wanted to throw herself off the closest cliff as _quickly as possible._

She could _feel_ her mother’s exasperation behind her, could feel Ramonda’s eyes digging into her back as if to tell her, _talk to him!_

Several times, she opened her mouth and half-turned, mind whirling and trying to think about something, _anything,_ to say to break the awkward silence, but every time she did, her voice seemed to get caught in her throat. 

The silence was honestly so painful, Shuri would almost rather fight with Erik again. 

Finally, she dredged up what was probably the worst conversation starters in the history of awkward dates, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else. 

“Were you able to complete everything you needed to back home?” 

M’Baku didn’t outwardly make any sign, but from the slight relaxing of his shoulder, she could tell he was relieved to have the conversation started. 

“Yes, I did. We had to treat our wounded and I had to inform the Jabari council about the betrothal.” 

In that moment, Shuri realized that she knew absolutely _nothing_ about the Jabari. Even hearing that they had a council that he had to answer to was a shock. 

Before she could ask any question, M’Baku went in with a backhanded remark she should have seen coming. 

“I did not know you were so close with that American.” 

There was something in his tone that made her bristle; carefully, she measured her words to make sure that they could not be construed differently. 

“My brother has put me in charge of Sergeant Barnes’ recovery,” she stated blandly, “Medically, psychologically, and physiologically.” 

“Physically, I can see how well he has responded to your care. He is…very comfortable with you.” 

Shuri had to physically bite her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. His words were carefully measured to not be insulting, but she could _hear_ his disapproval in the inflection of the words. 

Her fury was blinding, but she somehow managed to keep herself collected, and she hoped that her perfectly polite veneer was still in place. 

“Why did your brother put you in charge of his recovery?” 

“I imagine because he knew I was the most qualified for it.” 

“You are sixteen,” M’Baku said flatly. 

Even though it was not a question, she answered it lightly as one, careful to make sure her voice was light and respectful.

“I received my medical certification when I was thirteen. I also have a degree from the University of Birnin Zana in anatomy, psychology, and neurology, among others. It is why I am able to help Sergeant Barnes as much as I am.”

M’Baku gave her an astounded look, but she carefully tilted her head to the side as she examined the flowers with more intensity than strictly needed, careful to make sure that nothing she said was too emotional. 

Still bristling at the backhanded insults, Shuri kept her mouth firmly shut for the rest of the walk. If he wanted to talk, he would have to start the discussion this time.

Shuri gritted her teeth and forced herself not to babble to break the silence as was her normal mode of operation in awkward situations. 

She was going to drive him nuts being the “perfect traditional princess” if it killed her. 

For the next hour-and-a-half they walked in slow, looping circles around the gardens with at least a foot of space between them, silence awkward and heavy after their attempt to have a conversation. 

M’Baku obviously could not get away fast enough once the time had passed. 

Still, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her palm in a sign of respect, before saying with a tiny thread of apprehension in his voice, “Until next time.” 

Shuri pasted a bright but diplomatic smile on her face, even as every inch of her dreaded it, “Until then.” 

.

.

.

.

“Well,” Ramonda sighed, leaning against the wall in Shuri’s room as she watched her daughter throw herself onto her bed with a long groan, “That was the most awkward courting meeting that I have ever had the pleasure of supervising, and I want to remind you that I had to stand there and supervise the first few arranged courting meetings your brother had with the girls the council picked before he finally gathered his courage and started dating Nakia.”

Shuri groaned again, burying her face deep into her pillows, hoping idly that she could smother herself and get out of this conversation. 

She felt the dip of the bed, and then her mother was gently rubbing her back the same way that she had done to soothe her when she was a child. 

“Shuri,” Ramonda started, _“Omncinci,_ you cannot let this continue.” 

“It was only one courting meeting, Mama,” Shuri protested into the sheets, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“Shuri,” her mother’s voice turned mildly scolding now, “You know what I mean. Don’t be smart with me.” 

Shuri rolled onto her back and hauled herself up so she was sitting next to her mother. 

“Mother, I just…he is so _backhanded_ with me all the time, I don’t know how to get through these meetings without wanting to _strangle_ him -"

“Darling, you cannot let him push you like this, nor can you ice him out the way that you have been. I can promise you that part of the reason he is pressing you like this is because he wants a reaction out of you.” 

“What are we, children?” Shuri scoffed. 

Ramonda gave her a warning look, “You both are certainly acting like it.” 

Suitably cowed, Shuri slumped forward. 

“I hate this,” Shuri whispered angrily, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears as she admitted, “I hate that this cannot be easy, I hate that I cannot talk to him without it feeling like a battleground. I hate how I feel so out of control of this entire situation.” 

Ramonda gathered her daughter close, gently rocking them back and forth. Shuri allowed herself this small, brief moment to be soothed like a small child. 

“You two need to talk like real adults,” Ramonda chided gently, “And things will get easier. And if they do not get easier, than you will simply become strong enough that it will not matter. You are a princess, you are strong, and you are the smartest person in Wakanda. If there is ever to be anyone to survive and thrive in this situation, it would be you.” 

.

.

.

.

_**March 6th** _  
_**Jabari Land** _  
_**Ihlathi le Hlabathi (Capital City of Jabari Land)** _

M’Baku threw himself backwards onto his bed with a groan, letting one of his arms fall over his eyes and forehead. 

“You look like you fell off the side of a mountain and then crawled your way back up,” a familiar voice called cheekily from across the room. 

M’Baku blindly threw a rude hand gesture at the the general direction of the doorway. 

“Careful, I have small, innocent eyes here with me,” the voice called out again. 

M’Baku heard the soft sound of tiny feet against the wood of his room, heard small giggles as a child tried to pull themselves up onto the bed, and then there were small hands pressed against the top of his arm, tiny insistent palms slapping him in the forehead when he did not respond. 

Letting the little one push his arm off his face, he looked up into the tiny, cherubic face of his goddaughter staring down at him in delight. 

_“Malume!”_ Mandi announced delightedly, her tiny braided buns vibrating with each movement.

“Hello, little one,” he welcomed before hauling himself upwards, letting her start climbing all over him like a monkey. 

M’Danna, his best friend and brother in everything but blood, was standing near the foot of his bed, hands on his hips, amusement on his face as he watched his daughter use her godfather like a climbing wall. 

“So, how did the meeting with the betrothed go?” 

M’Baku wanted to curse loudly, but M’Danna was right; there were tiny, innocent ears listening, and Kiana would have his hide if Mandi learned any curse words from him. 

The expression on his face must have said it all, because M’Danna immediately started laughing. 

M’Danna had found the entire situation hilarious. He had all but broken a rib laughing when M’Baku had announced that he had accepted the betrothal agreement proposed by Princess Shuri. The Jabari council had been hesitant, but had agreed in the end that it would be a good political move, and give the Jabari a much larger voice while they integrated back into the majority of Wakanda.

“Where is Kiana?” M’Baku asked, hoping to deflect the conversation. 

“She is here, she got caught up talking to her mother on her way in, but she also wanted to know how the meeting went,” M’Danna collapsed onto one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, sprawling himself out comfortably, “Don’t worry, her mother will come here and take the little one, so you can speak freely when that happens.” 

“No!” Mandi immediately protested from her new perch atop M’Baku’s shoulders, her tiny hands gripping onto his short hair with a surprisingly strong grip. “I wanna hear 'bout Baku’s special friend!” 

The three-year-old was stubborn and strong, but M’Baku carefully detangled her grip from his hair, standing up and holding the giggling child upside-down. 

“You will hear all about her later, Mandi,” M’Baku reassured, before straightening the now-limp-with-laughter girl in his arms, holding her easily with one arm, “But I need to have a boring adult talk with your parents, so you go have fun with your grandma.” 

“Finneee,” Mandi drawled out, sounding much more put out than any child had the right to sound. 

Kiana appeared in the doorway soon after, her mother following behind her. M’Baku gave both of them a hug, before handing off Mandi to her grandmother. 

Kiana dropped into her husband’s lap, winding one arm around his neck without thinking. M’Danna wrapped his own arm around her waist, settling his wife into his side as if she were made for it.

M’Baku watched his two friends, melancholy settling into his bones as he watched how effortlessly they moved around each other. 

He had been a witness to the entirety of M’Danna and Kiana’s courtship. The two fools had been hopelessly in love with each other since they were teenagers, and that love had sustained them through hard times. Now they had a beautiful daughter to show for their love, and M’Baku was often jealous of how happy they were together.

“Now, tell us all about the betrothal meeting,” Kiana demanded, pinning M’Baku with her gaze. 

With a groan, M’Baku described to them the entire situation, how uncomfortable it was, how Shuri was icing him out, how he tried to get a reaction out of her and it backfiring. 

Throughout the story, M’Danna’s eyebrows rose to untold heights, and Kiana was looking at him in complete disbelief. When he was done, Kiana turned to look down at her husband for a split second. 

Then, Kiana stood, marched over to his side, and slapped him hard on the back of the head. 

“What was that for?!” M’Baku whined, leaning out of her reach immediately, holding one arm out to protect himself from any further hits. 

“You are such a _man,”_ Kiana sighed, rubbing her temples with both fingers before turning to M’Danna, glaring at her husband who was now laughing at the both of them. 

“What is that supposed to mean?!” M’Baku threw his hands up, honestly confused at her reaction. 

Kiana stared at him for a long moment before she despaired under her breath, “Oh my _god,_ you actually don’t get it...” 

At the confusion still on her friend’s face, Kiana threw her head back and stared up at the ceiling, not even trying to keep her voice low when she pleaded, “Hauruman, give me strength.” 

“Okay, listen closely, you idiot, because I am going to hopefully make your next courting meeting less awkward, and hopefully make it so that your future wife will actually enjoy being in your presence for more than a few minutes at a time.”

Kiana stood over him like a teacher that was scolding a naughty student, and M’Baku _hated_ it.

“You need to remember that this girl, although she is a princess, is only sixteen, almost seventeen years old. You also insulted her, tried to usurp her brother, and constantly run hot and cold with her. You are trying to get a reaction out of her, but she is going to think that you genuinely do not like her.” 

“I _barely_ know her, how can I like her or dislike her-“

“You already insulted her in front of all the Council elders and witnesses,” M’Danna drawled lightly, and M’Baku had to admit that he was right. He couldn’t even try to deny it, because M’Danna had been there when he tried to win the throne in ritual combat.

“Number one, actually talk to her like an adult, you idiot,” Kiana held up one finger to emphasize her point, “Ask her about her inventions even if you don’t care or agree with them. Tell her about Jabari culture, because she probably doesn’t know anything about us and she is about to become our Cheiftess.”

“Two,” she threw up another finger, “I know this might be difficult, but _try_ not to insult her or talk down to her. She may be your betrothed, but she is also the princess, so show a _little bit_ of respect to her and she might show some back.” 

M’Baku opened his mouth to argue with her - he was respectful! - but Kiana threw up her third finger and talked over him, cutting him off, “And three, for the love of Hauruman and Bast and any other god that is listening, actually make a goddamn effort to find common ground with her. Marriage is a lot of work, you cannot expect that you will just be able to coexist without talking to her for the rest of your life.” 

M’Danna chirped in now, “And unneeded married man advice here, but no matter how long you think you can hold a grudge and be the one to come out on top in a battle of wills…I can guarantee you that she will beat you every single time, my friend.” 

M’Baku threw his head back against the chair he was sitting in, groaning out, “I hate you both.” 

“You hate us because we are right,” Kiana primly stated before she dropped back onto her husband’s lap. 

“Now,” Kiana quickly changed the subject, “When are we going to get to meet this princess of yours? Mandi’s birthday is coming up soon, you should invite the princess to come for the celebration.” 

M’Baku eyed his friend warily, and she immediately pasted an innocent look on her face that did nothing to reassure him.

_Hauruman help me if the two of them become friends,_ M’Baku thought to himself, _I will never be able to win any argument ever again._

.

.

.

.

_**March 7th** _  
_**Wakanda** _

“You do not have to do this now,” Nakia held onto his hand tightly with both of hers, looking up at him earnestly. 

T’Challa knew her concern; he was touched by it, but he also knew that it was not unfounded. 

Together, they stood outside the wing of the palace that was used to hold higher-level prisoners awaiting trial. The rooms were small, set up not unlike the dorm rooms at an American university, but they were clean and comfortable and private, not like American jails where the entirety of the room was open for anyone to see in.

His Dora Milaje guards for the day were waiting on either end of the corridor, on guard and ready. 

Okoye was elsewhere; he had told her that he did not need her to be with him for this meeting. She had not protested, but he could see the pain and anguish on her face. 

He _burned_ at the knowledge that this was something he could not help his friend with. There was little he could do to comfort the general, knew that there was very little that anyone would be able to help her with. 

Okoye did not let people close to her, at least not easily. But she loved W’Kabi, loved him with everything she had. T’Challa knew that they had been talking about children in recent years, and he had been looking forward to being a psuedo-uncle to their future kids. 

And now…now, everything was _so messed up._

He needed to talk to W’Kabi though, knew that he had to eventually confront his friend and not just at trial. 

W’Kabi deserved to look him in the face and talk to him as a friend, not as a king. 

And T’Challa knew he deserved to look his best friend in the eye and ask _why._

Nakia was still worried; rightfully so. 

She had seen, more than anyone, what the aftermath of the attempted-coup had done to him. The anger, the pain, the _rage_ that had swirled within him with no outlet. Nakia had been on the receiving end of his ire more times than he wanted to admit, but each time she just cut him back down, reminded him of who he was and what needed to be done. She had held him when the tears came and had pushed him down onto the bed when he just needed his brain to _shut off._

He was so in love with her it was ridiculous. Bast help him, he was going to make her his queen. He would find some way to convince her that she could make the difference she wanted while still standing by his side.

T'Challa pressed a kiss to her forehead, hugging her slightly as he whispered into the crown of her head, “I have to do this. You know that. I will be fine, I promise.” 

Nakia looked skeptical still, but she rocked up onto the tips of her toes to kiss his lips quickly, before smoothing the front of his tunic with both hands.

“Alright. I will be with your mother going over proposals when you are done. Let me know when you are finished.” 

“Of course.” 

She turned, a concerned look still on her face, but once she rounded the corner and was out of sight, T’Challa turned back to look at the door and sucked in a deep breath. 

.

.

.

.

He knocked to warn W’Kabi that someone was coming in. After his kimoyo bead scanned and the proper clearance was verified, he opened the door and stepped in. 

Once he was inside, W’Kabi shot to his feet, apprehension on his face. 

The two men stood in silence for a long moment before T’Challa broke eye contact, casting his gaze around the room. 

The blanket that W’Kabi normally wore draped across his front was now folded at the foot of his bed. He was dressed in simple clothing, a tunic and pants, his feet bare. There was a stack of books on the desk, as well as several notebooks and pens scattered around. The window opened up onto the back of the palace, looking over the wide field where they had battled. 

“I hope that everything has been comfortable for you,” T’Challa started politely.

“Of course, everything has been fine,” W’Kabi replied stiffly. 

The awkward silence continued for a longer moment before T’Challa sighed, letting his shoulders relax a bit and he motioned for W’Kabi to sit. 

“I did not come here for awkward silences,” he bit out, trying to keep his rising anger in. 

W’Kabi sat, wary, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, apologetic. He looked like a kicked baby rhino, and T’Challa hated that expression. 

“T’Challa, I…I am sorry. I know those words will never be enough, but I am so sorry.” 

For a long moment, T’Challa just stood there, his heart aching in his chest. 

When he finally spoke, he could not stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice.

“You were my best friend,” W’Kabi flinched at the use of the past tense, but T’Challa did not falter, “And I will forgive you, in time, for losing your faith in me. I know…I _know_ what it feels to be blinded by grief, to do things you deeply regret once you can see clearly. I failed to fulfill my promise, and for that, I am sorry.” 

T’Challa’s voice turned harsh, sharp and grating as he tried viciously to keep himself from yelling at W’Kabi. 

“But I do not know how to forgive you for how you treated Okoye, and above all…I will never be able to forgive you for how your actions have condemned Shuri.” 

W’Kabi jerked to his feet, fear and shock coloring his expression, his hands shaking slightly as he took a half-step forward towards T’Challa in shock. 

“What? T’Challa, what are you talking about? What happened to Shuri?!”

He looked like a man who had just had the floor dropped out from underneath him; beneath his scars, his face had turned ashy, his eyes wide in concern. 

T’Challa was viciously reminded that W’Kabi had seen Shuri grow up with him. He had come into their lives after the explosion at the border that killed his parents, his uncle, W’Kana, taking custody of him. W’Kana was - or had been - the Council Elder for the Border Tribe. 

Shuri had been six months old, fascinated by textures. For a few months, W’Kabi had been one of her favorite people because of his blanket, the soft fabric the only thing that would soothe her when she was in the depths of a tantrum. 

The panic in W’Kabi’s face was what T’Challa imagined he had looked underneath his mask when he had turned his head and saw Killmonger standing over Shuri, ready to deal a killing blow. 

“Okoye didn’t tell you…”

“Tell me _what?!”_

“Because you and the rest of the Border Tribe aligned with Killmonger…Shuri approached Chief M’Baku behind my back while I was recovering.” 

“What did -“

“Shuri arranged a betrothal agreement between herself and Chief M’Baku. Her hand in marriage for his warriors and his forces to defeat Killmonger.” 

W’Kabi collapsed back into his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand, breaths coming harsh and labored. 

_“What?"_

“The betrothal agreement has been signed. Shuri will wed Chief M’Baku at some point in the future.” 

“She is only sixteen, how could she have signed-“

“Mother signed as her witness. Shuri will sign the agreement when she turns seventeen and then it will really be binding.” 

W’Kabi looked horrified, his hands trembling. 

“T’Challa…she can’t, she’s too young-“

“She should have had the option that I had,” T’Challa interrupted, frustration and anger and _betrayal_ pouring out of him like pus out of an infected wound. Seeing W’Kabi, seeing him look distressed made him _furious,_ because _this was partially his fault,_ what Shuri had to do was because W’Kabi had sided with an American usurper instead of him, his _best friend -_

He had seen the look on Shuri’s face yesterday at dinner, after her first of her supervised courting meetings with M’Baku. She had looked frustrated and annoyed, but below that…she looked _hopeless._ As if she had just gotten a glimpse at how the rest of her life was to be, and she feared it would not get better. 

He knew that his mother had hope that things would change, that once Shuri and M’Baku stopped posturing and put aside their pride, they would grow to like each other in time, maybe even love, but he _hated_ that his sister had to compromise in the first place. 

“Shuri should have been able to grow up free, continued inventing and doing what her heart wanted. She should have met someone on her own terms. She should have fallen in love and maybe gotten her heart broken and then fallen in love again. She should have met someone who shared her love for inventions and technology, should have been able to choose her husband in the _future,_ when she felt _ready_ for it. She should never have to compromise herself to the ‘best things can be,’ or to hope for something that might never happen but have no other recourse.”

His face twisted with the anger had violently repressed, because he was the _King_ and he had to be fair, had to be in control, had to be the face of Wakanda, had to make sure that everything was calm and moving forward, but the _fury_ at the injustice that had been dealt to his sister was burning him up on the inside. 

“But she cannot now, in large part because of _your_ actions. She won’t have that freedom. Instead, my precious baby sister _sold_ herself to an isolationist tribe in order to support me against my _best friend,_ so yes…that is one thing I will never be able to forgive you of. And yet Shuri will forgive you for it…and that’s what makes it all the worse.” 

W’Kabi’s eyes were brimming with tears, and there was still a part of T’Challa that wanted to reach out and comfort his friend, the part of him that just wanted this nightmare to _end,_ but that was not how this was going to go. 

This was not a fairytale story, and there would be no neat happily-ever-afters.

“Your trial will take place in a few days. As of right now, your stations protects you greatly. You will be punished for your defection, but you will not be imprisoned for the rest of your life. I hope that you have an apology ready for Okoye…Bast knows you are going to need it.” 

And with that, T'Challa turned and forced himself to walk out of the room before his anger really did get the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xhosa Translations (Google Translate)  
>  _Omncinci_ \- little one  
>  _Ihlathi le Hlabathi_ \- “Ice Forest/Forest of the World” [note: there is not official capital of Jabari land, so I made this one up myself]  
>  _Malume_ \- uncle
> 
> *****
> 
> happy tuesday everyone! 
> 
> thank you all so so much for the continued comments and feedback, it continues to blow me away. brownie points to you guys who saw in the last chapter that parts of Okoye's speech to M'Baku came from the Cast of Black Panther answer "Would You Rather" Questions from the Buzzfeed video/"To The Boys Who May One Day Date My Daughter" slam poetry!
> 
> come join me on my [tumblr!](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i reblog my feels for various fandoms (mainly marvel right now) and my ask box is always open. there are a few posts (one serious, the other not so serious) that inspired me this chapter, which i will link: [here](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/post/174161428095/vibraniumvibes-listening-to-all-the-stars) and [here](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/post/174161431245/flightsofwonder-wkabi-you-wanna-get-some)
> 
> please keep commenting, let me know how you feel about this chapter, and lemme know if you want to see anything specific and i might just work it into my plan :D


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Would you kill me, my love?"_   
>  _"For Wakanda? Without question.”_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “What do we do now?” W'Kabi asked her desperately. 
> 
> “I will pray to Bast every day that the man who leaves here stays gone, and the man I married will come back in his place.”

_****_ ****

**_March 12  
_** _**Birnin Zana, Wakanda**_

“I have the wine!” Shuri announced as brightly as she could, standing in the doorway to Nakia’s rooms with two bottles in each hand held aloft. 

Nakia motioned the younger girl in, and then shut the door behind her. 

Okoye was sitting on one of Nakia’s sofas in the corner of the sitting area, her legs drawn up and tucked beneath her, a pillow in her lap and her arms crossed tightly around it for comfort. 

It was a little strange seeing the general of the Dora Milaje in anything but her uniform, but she had been given the week off - more like forced to take the time off by a protective Ramonda - so now she was in comfortable clothes, a pair of olive green pants with a loose, crocheted black tank top. 

Seeing Okoye like this - lost, hurt, eyes rimmed red from the tears she had not allowed herself to shed - made Shuri _itch_ with the need to fix the situation, do something, _anything_ , to make it better.

But this was something that no one could help Okoye with. 

W’Kabi’s trial had been that morning.

He had been found guilty of treason against the crown and against Wakanda. He had stood straight and silent, not a single emotion showing on his face when the sentence had been read out. Only grim acceptance as he took it with as much grace as he could. 

T’Challa had been forced to stand in front of the room and read out the sentence, and then read out his punishment. 

T’Challa’s voice had not broken, but Shuri knew her brother. Knew that while he was hurt and furious at his ex-best friend, he would never relish punishing W'Kabi for what he had done. If her brother - with his big, kind heart - had his way, W’Kabi would have been imprisoned for barely a week and that would be the end of it. 

But that was not how it was meant to be. 

“The Council has decided for your defection, that you will be stripped of your title as Representative in Training for the Border Tribe, pending eight years, after which you will be reevaluated to see if you will be able have the opportunity to resume the elected mantle.”

And then the real punishment came. 

“The Council has also decided that as you would have opened the borders of Wakanda to potential war…” here, T’Challa faltered the slightest bit, regret swimming in his eyes, “You will be sentenced to carry out five years of international War Dog missions, protecting the borders of Wakanda and seeing the reality of what occurs when a country is torn apart by weapons, war, and violence.”

The words echoed through the room, the murmurings of the Wakandan citizens who had come to see the trial rising in ferocity. 

W’Kabi’s eyes had gone wide, and he had whirled to the side to look at his wife. 

Okoye stood still as stone on the side of the room, her hand in an almost white-knuckled grip around her spear, jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder her teeth did not crack. 

W’Kabi had been stripped of his Border Tribe blanket, and it had been folded and given to Okoye for safe-keeping. He would be held in the palace for a few more days while missions were reviewed and someone trusted would be place in charge of W’Kabi’s supervision. 

W’Kabi would have an hour to pack what he needed from his home, she would have a chance to say goodbye, and then her husband would be gone for the next five years as per his punishment.

As soon as the trial was over, Nakia had ushered Okoye out of the room. W’Kabi had watched with wide, lost eyes as his wife left the room without even a glance over her shoulder. Shuri had stood by her brother and her mother as W’Kabi was led out of the room and then immediately followed Nakia and Okoye. 

Nakia had told her that she was going to bring Okoye back to her rooms, and Shuri immediately volunteered to go down to the kitchens and get all the alcohol they would need. Three bottles of wine, and then a back-up bottle of Wakandan whiskey that she would open if the big guns were needed.

Nakia grabbed some wine glasses from the sideboard in her room, pouring the three of them a generous amount. Okoye grabbed the glass and immediately downed the entire contents; Nakia did not say a word, simply took the glass and refilled it, leaving the bottle close by Okoye for easier access. 

The three women sat in silence for a long moment, each of them nursing their glasses at varying paces. 

“I do not know what to do,” Okoye admitted, her voice whisper-soft and brittle like autumn leaves. She did not look up, instead examined the rim of her wine glass as if it held all the answers to her life’s problems there. 

Nakia sat next to her friend, laying a comforting hand on Okoye’s knee. 

“You have options, Okoye. You have time as well. You do not have to make a decision now.” 

Okoye nodded slowly, but her eyes were still brimming with tears that threatened to fall quick and fast. 

“Queen Ramonda has already asked me if I wish for a divorce,” Okoye admitted, her mouth trembling as she said divorce like a dark secret, the taste bitter and heavy on her tongue.

Shuri was a still; the thought of Okoye and W’Kabi divorcing was painful, even after everything. Growing up, she had based so much of her idea of a great relationship, a perfect marriage, on the two of them. 

To see it in this state was shaking the foundation of everything she had ever dreamed for herself.

“Do you?” Nakia asked as evenly as she could.

Okoye scoffed, her hands trembling now, wine sloshing in the glass. 

Shuri reached over and gently took it from Okoye, placing the glass on the small table in front of them. 

“No, of course not…but I also do not know if he is still the man I married.” 

Okoye looked up and made eye contact with her, and Shuri wanted to cry as well at the look on the older woman’s face; she had always looked up to Okoye as a much older sister, an aunt, another motherly figure that would threaten anyone who came too close. And now, seeing Okoye like this made Shuri itch for her own blasters so she could go down to the prisoner's suites and give W’Kabi a piece of her mind. 

“I saw him, Shuri,” the tears finally spilled over, streaking down her cheeks, “He stood there, that stupid blank look on his face, while Killmonger stood over you ready to deal a killing blow. He turned his back on T’Challa, his best friend. He would have watched as that fanatic waged war with the rest of the world, without thought of the casualties or the innocents who would be caught the crossfire. Without thought of Wakanda, and protecting it.” 

Shuri gritted her teeth, trying to find calm within her. 

It was not about her right now, it was about Okoye. 

“I know,” the words tasted bitter on her tongue, “But this is not about me, Okoye.” 

“During the battle, when I stepped in to protect Chief M’Baku…I held my spear to W’Kabi’s throat. He asked me if I would really kill him…”

Nakia tried to cut off the conversation, tension rolling off of her in waves. Her hands fluttered uselessly, trying to provide comfort where she could.

“Okoye, you do not have -“

“I told him that for Wakanda? I would kill him without hesitation. What does that make me, Nakia? What kind of wife am I that I did not see how the loss of his parents has festered inside of him like an infected wound? What kind of wife does that make me that I would turn my spear on him and take his life?” 

Shuri had enough. 

Crossing over to the other side of Okoye, she dropped onto the couch and wrapped her arms tightly around the general, pulling her into a hug made slightly awkward by their height difference.

“It makes you Okoye, General of the Dora Milaje. It makes you the protector that you are. It makes you my aunt in everything but blood. You cannot fix what you had no knowledge of. You are not to blame for his actions, Okoye, nor should you carry any guilt for stopping him. Stopping him doesn’t automatically mean that you don't love him.” 

“We were talking about children,” Okoye admitted brokenly against her shoulder, gingerly wrapping an arm around Shuri to return the hug, “We were planning when the best time to start trying would be. I got prenatal vitamins from the doctors a few months ago, ready for when we decided to try. He was talking about changing one of our spare rooms into a nursery.” 

Okoye choked on a sob, covering her face with her free hand, “How did it all go this wrong?"

Nakia bracketed in Okoye from the other side, holding onto her friend tightly. 

Shuri blinked away her own tears, tried to soothe Okoye as much as she could, exchanging helpless looks over the general’s shoulders with Nakia, who looked just as lost as she felt. 

The three women stayed there for a long time, wrapped up in an awkwardly tangled embrace of arms and legs. Okoye held onto them both with an iron grip, her body shaking slightly from the force of the cries she was trying to repress. 

Neither of them would be able to take this burden from their friend, as much as they might wish they could. All they could do was help shoulder the load, and support her while she carried it herself.

.

.

.

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_**March 15** _

Okoye centered herself, steadying her breathing, making sure that she was as calm and composed as she could be. She knew that her composure was not going to last long, but she would attempt to hold onto that veneer as long as she could. 

Her hands were sweating from nerves; the sheaf of papers she was holding was now wrinkled from how tightly she had gripped them. 

She had _hated_ the looks of pity she got as she had signed them; people who barely knew her had stopped to try and give her comforting words, but all she wanted to do was scream. 

_None_ of them would ever know how she felt, _none_ of them would ever get what it was like to have the person you loved and trusted the most throw everything back in your face, would never know how it felt to hold a blade to your husband's neck and know deep in your bones you would kill him if you had to, even if it would rip your own heart out. 

W’Kabi was in their home now, readying to depart for his missions.

Five years. 

He would be gone for _five_ years. 

Because of the nature of his punishment, she wouldn’t even be allowed to visit him if she wanted, not until he earned that privilege back. No calls, no contact, not even any letters. 

Even if he earned communication privileges…it would take months. Seeing him in person would take years, if she ever was allowed to. 

~~_If she even wanted to…_~~

There would be no time for them to work on their marriage. 

Okoye was going to be left behind in the aftermath, and left to pull together the pieces on her own. 

And yet…despite her anger, her hurt, all the conflicting emotions roiling in her like a boiling pot…

She was not ready to say goodbye.

Her feet carried her through the door to her home on autopilot, dropping the keys she carried into the little green, hand-painted bowl that Nakia had bought her from Greece several years ago. 

His eyes were heavy on her the moment she crossed the threshold.

“Okoye…” W’Kabi breathed.

He was dressed in simple green tunic and pants, his hair and beard trimmed neatly. From the way the clothes hung off of his frame, he must have lost weight from his time imprisoned.

Standing behind him was Daya, who cast her commander a sympathetic look. 

“Daya, you may wait outside. This will only take a few minutes,” Okoye kept her voice light and calm, but distant. 

“Of course, General,” Daya crossed her arms and bowed her head in salute, and quickly slid out the front door, shutting it silently behind her. 

For a long moment, the two of them stood with the entire room between them. The silence rung, tension building for a long moment before W’Kabi finally cursed softly under his breath, crossing the room in three long strides to wrap his arms around her tightly. 

Against her better judgement, she melted into his embrace.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and smelt so familiar and comforting - the lemongrass of his soap, clean cotton, and the spicy cologne he favored. 

“Okoye, I am so sorry,” he whispered harshly against her shoulder, his arms tightening convulsively around her waist. She could feel his tears pooling against her skin, and she had to resist the urge to comfort him. 

“I know,” she finally said, pulling back firmly, breaking his hold on her. She kept her hands on his shoulders as she moved, holding him far enough away that she had a bit of breathing room. 

The papers in her hands crinkled against his shoulder, and he looked down at it with a puzzled expression. 

“What are these?” 

She wordlessly handed him the sheaf of paper she had been clutching the entire way back to their home. As soon as he had them in hand, she walked into the kitchen, needing space to collect herself. 

Okoye did not wait while he read them. She did not want to see his expression when he realized what it was.

The plants lining the window ledge behind the sink were looking a bit withered. Without thinking too hard, she filled up the water bottle sprayer she had next to the sink with practice motions, spritzing the small pots carefully. Then she grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the water, exerting too much concentration as she did these small, menial tasks. 

“Okoye, what is this?” 

W’Kabi sounded…distraught. Breathless. In disbelief. Like someone had taken a club and slammed it into his torso, leaving him outwardly okay but broken and bruised internally. 

“It is a legal separation agreement. Because of the circumstances, it was approved quickly.” 

Okoye turned to the refrigerator next, opening it and quickly inventorying the food that was expired and those that was not. She shut the fridge and then turned to the pantry to grab a garbage bag. 

“Okoye!” 

W’Kabi’s voice was now much angrier, and it set her right off. 

She slammed the box of garbage bags against the counter, whirling around to stare over the kitchen island at her husband - 

_Not her legal husband anymore._

The pain of that thought made her flinch, but she clung all the harder to the anger. 

She could handle anger. 

Anger burned, but it was better than hurt. 

“ _What_ , W’Kabi?” 

“A legal seperation?!” 

“It is not a divorce, W’Kabi,” she snapped, bristling at the judgement in his eyes. 

_How dare he?!_

“Then what is it?!” He bellowed, his emotions finally bubbling over the top.

“It’s what _I want_ ,” Okoye shouted right back. 

W’Kabi looked at her like she had just slapped him. 

“You turned your back on Wakanda, on T’Challa, your best friend, on _me,_ ” Her voice cracked from the force of her emotions, but she pushed on, the words spewing out of her like poison from a cobra’s fangs, “You would have stood there while that _monster_ killed Shuri!” 

“Shuri,” her voice cracked a bit, “Shuri, who loves you like another brother. Who forgives you even now. Who _sold_ herself to the _Jabari_ so that T’Challa would be able to win the throne back from that warmonger, who was supported by _you_ and _your_ forces.” 

“Okoye-“

“We used to joke how she was unofficially our _goddaughter,_ W’Kabi!” She roared, “You held her as an infant, watched her grow up, comforted her when she cried. If this is how easily you turned on her, what would you have done if we had had our own children!?”

W’Kabi was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked. He looked…absolutely gutted. 

“Then why not a divorce?” He asked in the silence that fell after. 

“Because, like a fool, I still love you,” she whispered, like she was admitting her greatest sin. And maybe she was. Maybe loving a traitor, a man who turned on her, their friends and family and country, was the greatest sin she would commit.

_Bast, please forgive me._

“Where do we go from here?” W'Kabi asked her desperately, hands trembling and shoulders tensed so much they were almost drawn all the way up to his ears. 

Okoye slowly walked around the kitchen island to the side he was standing on, pausing for a split moment before she leaned in to press a harsh kiss to the crest of his cheek, his scars rough beneath her lips. 

“I will pray to Bast every day that the man who leaves here stays gone, and the man I married will come back in his place.”

She grasped one of his hands tightly between both of hers, the rough callouses comfortingly familiar. 

These hands had held her hands and helped lead her through her life. She had held these hands on her worst days, and her best. These hands were the ones she trusted to see hold her together when she was vulnerable and falling apart. These hands had been the ones she had always reached for when she needed them.

How scary it was to know that by this time tomorrow, they would not be within easy reach for her to hold if she needed them. 

"If the man I married does not return, then…then the next pile of papers will be divorce papers.” 

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_**March 19** _

Shuri stretched, wincing when her spine popped. She had just collapsed into the comfortable armchair in her mother’s private quarters in a contorted position and didn’t move for hours, so now she was paying the price for it. 

“Shuri, your posture,” Ramonda scolded gently without looking up from the project in her hands. 

Ramonda was, among other things, an exceptionally talented seamstress and weaver. It was her way of relaxing, and she always enjoyed pouring her love into her work and seeing her children love it. 

Shuri had many dresses, pieces of jewelry, and ceremonial clothing pieces that were that much more special because her mother had made them specifically for her; and although she did not have the talent or the precision to hand-create like her mother, there was something special about the moments that she had shared when her mother tried to teach her the traditional arts of Wakanda. 

“What are you working on?” Shuri asked, trying to deflect the conversation from the scolding she was sure to endure as she settled back into the same contorted position. 

“A necklace for Nakia. It will be an engagement gift once your brother finally finds the courage to propose,” Ramonda explained, showing the intricately beaded necklace, about an inch and a half thick, with black and gold accents throughout the pattern. 

“It’s beautiful, Mama,” Shuri complimented.

The mother-daughter duo sat in comfortable silence for a while; Ramonda working on the necklace for Nakia, and Shuri just comfortably curled into the warm armchair, allowing herself these few moments of relaxation. 

“Shuri,” Ramonda started, breaking the silence with a soft voice, “I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.” 

Automatically, Shuri stiffened. 

Tomorrow was her second betrothal meeting with M’Baku.

“What about it?” She tried to aim for nonchalance, but it fell flat. 

“Shuri, the last thing I think either of you want is for tomorrow to be just as uncomfortable and silent as the first meeting,” Ramonda folded her hands delicately in her lap and stared her down. Shuri squirmed a bit under the intensity of her mother’s gaze.

Shuri did not know what to say, so she did what every teenager did when their parents started talking about something they did not want to talk about. 

She remained silent. 

Ramonda sighed, before putting her beading aside and standing up, smoothing away the creases in her dress before crossing over to the love seat Shuri was sitting on, pushing her daughter’s legs down and sitting on the space, forcing Shuri to look at her.

The Queen Mother drew her daughter’s legs back over her lap, and gently ran her hand up and down Shuri’s shin. 

“Talk to me, _omncinci._ Tell me what is running through your genius mind. Remember, I am on your side, always.” 

Shuri wished she was able to put what she was feeling into words. 

“I just…Mama, I am so _angry_ that he told T’Challa the way that he did, that he broke his word to me. He does not respect me, he hates our technology, and I am not even entirely sure why he agreed to the betrothal. And I know I am the one who proposed this arranged marriage, and I have made my bed and I will lie in it. But I just…I don’t want him to ever have the satisfaction, to think that he _won._ ”

Ramonda tutted gently. 

“My daughter, I understand your frustration and your anger. But!” she cut off her daughter’s protest before she could start, “Marriage is not a cold war. You will never be happy if you are counting wrongs and believing in the end there is a winner. You two are now partners in life, and that is what marriage is. A team, not a chess match.”

Shuri swallowed convulsively, her eyes burning with tears when she finally let herself ask the question that had been burning her up from the inside out, even when a part of her railed against the vulnerability that was laced with it.

“But what about love?”

“Oh, _omncinci,_ ” Ramonda drew her closer, pulling Shuri’s head down to rest on her shoulder, cradling her close, “I am so sorry that you are not marrying for love. I am so sorry that you will not have the chance to fall in love organically, to have your heart broken and then fall in love again and again. But sometimes…love comes afterwards. And remember, sometimes marriages entered into with love don’t always end with love.” 

Okoye’s heartbroken face flashed across her mind; Okoye had loved W’Kabi, and W’Kabi had loved her, and yet, now they were both brokenhearted. 

“Love can come after a marriage, Shuri. You have never done anything conventionally. You can make your own story here, but there will never be a chance for happiness or love in the future if you do not lay down a solid foundation here.” 

Ramonda smiled at the ceiling, warmth suffusing her bones as she thought of her husband, of T’Chaka and how he had been in the beginning of their courtship. The poised, practice politician a stuttering, stumbling mess as he tried to compliment her as they walked through the same gardens her youngest was now walking with her own betrothed.

“There is no ‘winning’ in marriage, my love. Please, even when he is being infantile tomorrow,” Shuri had to giggle that her mother used when instead of if, clearly knowing that they would both be locked in a battle of wills forever if one did not willingly make the first move, “Try to make an effort to move beyond this. You are not letting him win. You are doing it for yourself, for your own comfort.”

“I will, Mama,” Shuri promised, fortified by her mother’s words. 

Ramonda was right; they would get no where like this. And although her pride smarted at the thought of being the one to give in…her heart was bruised and aching, and she did not think she would be able to handle any more negative emotional upheaval. 

How nice it would be to have someone who was firmly in her corner. Not a lover…but maybe just a partner for now. 

“I want you to be happy more than anything in the world, my daughter,” Ramonda whispered into her temple, pressing a kiss there as well, “And I am so proud of the young woman you are becoming. And M’Baku does not yet know how lucky he is to have you."

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_**March 20** _

Shuri smoothed her dress down nervously; Ramonda cast her daughter a fortifying look before the two of them pushed forward into the Council room. 

M’Baku was sitting in his own chair, the round table in front of him laden with papers. He had a pinched look of irritation on his face, but it was hidden slightly as his head was bowed as he read. 

T’Challa was more gracelessly thrown back in his own chair, a pile of papers in front of him as well; he looked calmer, less aggrieved. His calmer demeanor definitely had something to do with Nakia sitting next to him, reading her own pile of information. Underneath the table, Shuri could see their ankles hooked around each others.

All of them looked up when they heard the doors open; Shuri kept her face relaxed and calm, but internally, she was shaking.

“My son, Nakia, Chief M’Baku, I am sorry to disturb you, but it is time for Shuri and M’Baku’s betrothal meeting.”

“Of course, my queen,” M’Baku inclined his head respectfully, shuffling the papers he was reading into some semblance of order before he stood, all six foot four inches of him rising from the chair with warrior’s grace. 

Shuri was dressed a little more formally this time than how she had been at their last meeting when they had come to fetch her from her labs. She was in a simple white wrap-around dress that her mother had made her for her birthday a few years ago. It flattered her long, slim figure, but the breathable fabric made it comfortable to wear in the cool March weather as well as the hot summers. 

M’Baku was dressed customarily in his warrior’s garb, but he had forsaken some of his furs. His staff was still strapped to his back, but it had collapsed into itself somehow, no longer at its full length. 

His Jabari guards fell into place behind him, a few paces back. Ayo and Daya were their Dora Milaje guards today, and they fell into place as well. 

“Princess,” M’Baku inclined his head to her, and she allowed a small smile to rise to her lips.

Shuri had taken her mother’s words to heart. She did _not_ want another really awkward courting meeting. 

She did not think she would be able to be as open and true with him as she was with her friends, but she knew that she had to give a few inches if she wanted to get a few back. It was a two way street here, and she knew she was being hypocritical when she wanted him to make that effort without her putting some forward herself. 

“Chief,” she responded. 

He looked a little surprised at her smile, but she did not let his reactions faze her. 

“Shall we walk throughout the gardens again, maybe the western portion this time?” Shuri offered, “I know you will want to continue the work you are doing with my brother when this…meeting is over, so it might do well for us not to go too far.” 

M’Baku did not say anything, but he followed her as she walked out of the room. 

Shuri cast one look over her shoulder to her mother, brother, and Nakia; they all gave her encouraging smiles. 

Turning back to watch where she was going, she sucked in a deep breath to fortify herself. 

_Bast, if you are listening…please help guide me. I don’t want to make this worse._

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.

.

.

The Royal Gardens were massive; the time that they had walked around during the first courting meeting, they had only covered the eastern part of it. So, Shuri lead them to the western portion of the garden. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, but the silence was not as heavy and awkward, which was a minor blessing.

Her mind was racing; she must have opened her mouth dozens of time trying to find the words to start a conversation - _any_ conversation - but each time she thought of something to say, she immediately stopped herself. 

_How did your tasks go?_

_How fares the Jabari?_

_How are you?_

Ramonda’s eyes were heavy on her back, and Shuri knew her mother was wondering why the hell she wasn’t saying anything. She could almost feel her mother’s hand smacking her lightly on the back of the head, exasperation pouring off of her. 

But she _couldn’t_ bring herself to ask anything!

Each question she thought of, no matter how neutral she tried to make them, was immediately thrown away again. Her brain was functioning at top speed now, scenarios playing out in front of her. Her brain thought of all the viciously cutting retorts he could make, might make, to any question she asked. 

Bast _damn it_ \- 

M’Baku must have had enough of the silence as well, because he finally broke it with a deadpanned, “I see neither of us have gotten better at this in the two weeks we have been apart.” 

Perhaps laughing a bit too loudly at his comment - she was nervous! - Shuri shrugged idly, thankful beyond belief that he had said something first.

“I guess not. How have you been? What have you needed to do these past few weeks?”

M’Baku shrugged, mimicking her gesture unconsciously.

“Simply dealing with the normal volume of work. Thankfully, there was no infrastructure damage to Jabari lands after Killmonger. The most interesting thing I can think of is that my friend, M’Danna and his wife, Kiana, are planning their daughter’s fourth birthday party, and it’s turning into a circus.” 

Shuri jumped on the conversation with both hands, also curious to the small insight of his personal life he had just given away.

“How so?” 

M’Baku’s lips twitched up in to a fond smile as his eyes got a little bit distant; it was the most unguarded that she had ever seen him. 

“Their daughter, Mandi, is a little hellion. She’s also my goddaughter. I think having her father and me and her extended family wrapped around her tiny fingers from birth has given her an inflated sense of power.” 

Her laugh was genuine this time; T’Challa had made the same joke about her growing up, and to be honest, he might have been right. She had grown up as the only child in the palace - since T’Challa was so much older than her - and she had certainly been spoiled because of it. 

“I’m sure she’s spoiled rotten.” 

M’Baku rolled his eyes dramatically, theatrically throwing his head back. 

“You have certainly got that right. It also does not help that her father has three brothers, and her mother has two brothers as well. She is the first grandchild, and a girl at that, so she has had a never-ending supply of uncles to boss around.” 

“Well, tell her I said happy birthday as well. Hopefully you can survive the chaos,” Shuri teased, almost in disbelief at how easily words were coming. 

“The Lodge might not be standing in the aftermath,” he intoned in a mock-solemn voice, “We are going to have to have our engineers reinforce the walls.”

“You have engineers?” 

The instant the question left her lips, Shuri wanted to _slap_ herself. She had not meant for the thought to slip out like that, but he had definitely heard her, if the suddenly blank mask that slammed down across his face was any indication. 

She had not meant to sound so incredulous, and now she just wanted to smack herself because things had been going _so well_ \- 

“Yes, princess,” his tone was definitely more sarcastic now, “We are not just warriors in wooden lodges, hidden away in the backwards mountains. We have doctors and engineers and inventors, just like you do down here in the _Golden City._ ” 

His tone made her bristle, and she had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep the angry retort in. 

_Remember what Mama said,_ she reminded herself harshly, _You promised to try and make an effort._

The awkward silence made a triumphant return for a minute while Shuri visibly battled herself, trying to keep her emotions in check. 

Finally, she bit out - only _slightly_ cold, she was proud to say - “I did not mean it in an insulting way. I was caught a little off guard. In completely honesty, the only thing we ever really knew about the Jabari is that you are an isolationist tribe that shuns technology, so anything you would tell me would surprise me.” 

It was not an apology, but M’Baku slowly relaxed, his expression still guarded but no longer blank and cold. 

“We are…well, we were an isolated tribe by choice. It did not occur to me until recently that you probably do not know a great deal about the Jabari,” M’Baku conceded. 

“We do not know much at all about your tribe,” Shuri admitted, “Just the basics. Your god is Hanuman, the Great Gorilla. Your main city is in the mountains, and trade between the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda has been, for many decades, simply an exchange of furs and crops for some medical supplies and other crops.” 

M’Baku was honestly surprised by how little she knew; he did not know why he assumed that her status as a Princess would mean that she knew more than the average citizen, but apparently he was wrong. 

The Jabari never left the mountain; before he came to challenge T’Challa for the throne, the last time a Jabari citizen had been in the Golden City for an extended period of time was when King T’Chaka had assumed the throne, to renew the cold peace agreement they had. 

Not only was their engagement historic in bringing the Jabari back to the fold, but this was the first marriage of a Jabari - and their chief, nonetheless - and an outsider in hundreds of years.

Kiana’s words flashed through his mind loudly: _Tell her about Jabari culture, because she probably doesn’t know anything about us and she is about to become our Cheiftess._

“Well then,” M’Baku straightened a bit, convulsively clenching his hands into fists over and over, “Feel free to ask any questions you might have, Princess. You will one day become Cheiftess of the Jabari. It will do no good to anyone to have you ignorant of the people you will one day lead.” 

Shuri had to keep herself from audibly sighing in relief, while a part of her tensed up at the reminder of their engagement and one of the very many realities of her future; she was going to be married to this man in the future, and he came with an entire tribe and more responsibilities as well.

There were so many questions clamoring for front space in her mind, but Shuri could not keep the most important one - to her, at least - from escaping even if she wanted to.

“Why do you shun technology?” Shuri blurted out, the question one that had been burning her up with curiosity ever since she had learned about the Jabari. 

“We do not shun technology,” M’Baku answered, but before he could continue, Shuri cut him off with a trace of annoyance, “Yes, you do. I have tried several times in the past to send shipments of our weaponry and technology to the Jabari, and every time it has been rejected.” 

“We do not shun technology,” M’Baku repeated, “We shun _vibranium_ technology.” 

Shuri was stunned into silence. 

“What?” 

M’Baku sighed, before he cast his glance around the part of the gardens they were walking through. He motioned off the path to the large trees that shaded a soft spot of grass. There was even a bench a few meters down where Ramonda would be able to sit and still be within earshot.

He lowered himself to the ground gracefully, but she just sprawled herself out next to him, leaning back on her elbows with her legs crossed at the ankles, without a second thought to her white dress and any potential grass stains. 

“We have many of the same advancements as you do, Princess. Our roads, crops, infrastructure, everything is just as advanced as the rest of Wakanda. However, we do not agree with the dependence of the rest of Wakanda on vibranium itself. Look at all the wars that would be fought for control of it. No. We use vibranium’s power in other ways.” 

He reached to his back and pulled his staff off of the holster. He jerked his hand roughly, and the staff enlongated, the wood smooth and supple. 

“Look,” he laid the staff down across his lap, so she could see the grains and swirls within it. 

“Virbanium,” she gasped, running her fingers lightly over the small swirls of metal she could see within the wood. 

“Yes and no. When the astroid hit Wakanda, it did more than just leave a deposit of vibranium. It affected the land around it, which is why we have things like the heart-shaped herb that gave your brother his strength, and why the wood in the mountains is as fortified as it is.” 

He let Shuri take the staff from his hands, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she studied it. He felt his own lips twitch into a small smile at the look of bright enthusiasm on her face as she absorbed everything that he was telling her, all the new information that her genius brain was thirsty for. 

“The Jabari believe that it was a gift from our god, Hanuman. He was the one who fused the strongest aspects of vibranium with the wood, giving us the combined strength of the metal and the strength of the wood of Wakanda. In a way, vibranium does play a part in our technology, but not a large one. We depend on the Jabari wood, a sustainable resource."

“Is it a specific tree, or is it all trees? Is it only in Jabari lands, or are the trees all throughout Wakanda as strong as this? Is the wood still flammable? How do you shape the wood with the vibranium deposits within it? Does the metal compromise the integrity of the wood? How is it sustainable, does the metal bind and grow _with_ the wood?”

Shuri shot off questions at a rapid pace, clearly not waiting for answers and moreso just spouting out all the thoughts that were running through her mind. 

Still, he tried to answer her questions as much as he could - some of it was too technical for him to even hope to understand, let alone know and explain back to her - but he found himself intrigued, having never thought to ask how the technology in his home tribe worked, just knowing that it was integral to their culture. 

He promised that whenever she came to Ihlathi le Hlabathi he would introduce her to the engineers, and the architects, the medics, whomever she wanted so that they would be able to give her the answers she sought.

For the first time ever, she turned one of her bright, beaming smiles on him.

M’Baku would deny how he basked in the warmth of it. 

Soon, the conversation turned from the Jabari wood to other points about the Jabari. 

Shuri asked what he was working on with her brother currently (renewing trade agreements, a tedious and boring process). She asked about the Jabari infrastructure, how their governance system worked, what his responsibilities were. About what would be expected of her once they were married, what her responsibilities would entail. 

They stayed away from potential volatile topics - her inventions, the way he had revealed their betrothal, anything that might start a fight - and kept the conversations light. There would be time for deeper, harder conversations later.

He asked questions in return. About growing up in the Golden City, about her responsibilities and her studies. What she did on a daily basis, how their Council worked in theory and then in reality, how their infrastructure was built.

So enthralled were they both in this exchange of culture - and it warmed something deep within M’Baku to know that Shuri was genuinely invested and interested in the land and the people she would one day lead with him - that the few hours allotted for this meeting flew by in almost the blink of an eye. 

It was with great reluctance that Ramonda had gently interrupted them, reminding them that the time allotted for them to talk was reaching its end, and T’Challa was waiting for M’Baku so that they could finish the trade agreements before dinner. 

Shuri was disappointed that it was ending so soon, but she was happy that the meeting was ending on a high note, instead of bitter silence. 

“Until next time, I look forward to continuing our discussion,” Shuri smiled up at him. 

She did not reach for his hand, or make any move for physical contact, but M’Baku was more than happy with the way they were ending this meeting. 

“Until next time. I look forward to it as well,” he responded, a smile on his face in return. 

And perhaps the greatest miracle was that neither of them were lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xhosa Translations (Google Translate)  
> Omncinci - little one  
> Ihlathi le Hlabathi - “Ice Forest/Forest of the World” [my name for the Jabari capital city]
> 
> ******
> 
> i'm baacckkkk!
> 
> i am so so sorry about the month delay in updates! i was working an INSANE job for the month of june, one that i love but does not leave a lot of time for sleep, let alone writing. now, i will be back onto my regularly scheduled writing for this fic! 
> 
> i know this chapter is more focused on Okoye and W'Kabi, but that is because i was so frustrated by the lack of closure with their relationship. there is so much i loved about them from their minimal screen time - if anyone really actually wants to know that whole monologue, ask me on tumblr - so i wanted to try and give them justice. 
> 
> if anyone is confused, a legal separation (in america, at least) is kind of a "stopping point" before divorce, where finances and all that are on pause, but you can rescind it easily and be "married" once again, whereas divorce is a permanent separation unless you decide to get married again.
> 
> i really want to make this a realistic fic, so i am trying to explore and establish the relationships between all the characters. i am so glad you guys like Kiana and M'Danna as much as i do! i have a lot of ideas in mind for them :D
> 
> anyway, sorry for rambling, but thank you so so so much for your patience, kudos, subscriptions, and comments! comments really are the life's blood for writers, every single one makes my day.
> 
> until next tuesday, or come hit me up on [tumblr!](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/)


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"In times of crisis, the wise build bridges while the foolish build walls. We must find a way to look after one another, as if we were one single tribe."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> M’Baku celebrates a birthday, Shuri lays some groundwork, and Wakanda steps into the international arena. Some ugly truths are discovered, and new allies gear up for a different kind of battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines taken directly from the movie (UN Announcement Scene)

**March 30th**  
**Ihlathi le Hlabathi, Jabari Lands**

“Happy birthday, _umntanami!”_

Mandi giggled brightly as M’Baku swooped her up into his arms, easily picking her up and plopping the small girl onto his shoulders, holding onto her small ankles with one large hand. 

Kiana watched, amused, as her daughter clutched M’Baku’s forehead with her small hands. 

_“Malume!_ I’m four! I am almost a whole hand!” 

“I know! You’re getting so big! Did you know that when you were born, I could hold your entire body in just one of my own hands?” 

_“Really?”_

M’Baku tilted his head back so the top of his head was pressed to her stomach so he could see her small face hovering over his. 

“Yes, you were. After your mother and father held you, I got to hold you. Your grandmother is still a little mad that I got to hold you before she did, but she was visiting family in another village for the day and I was so excited I didn’t want to wait.” 

Mandi beamed down at her godfather. 

“You were that excited to meet me?” 

M’Baku’s smile was reminiscent, nostalgia filling his voice as he went, “I was so excited to meet you. Your _baba_ and I have been friends since we were your age, you know. I was there when he met your mama, and when they got married. It was exciting to know he would have an _omncinci_ of his own.” 

Mandi was enthralled by M’Baku story. Her hair, in braids similar to Shuri’s, was loose around her shoulders. She was in a pretty pink dress that he was certain would be stained with some mystery substance by the end of the day.

M’Baku hadn’t been lying to Shuri; Mandi had five uncles in total, and they were all helplessly enamored with their niece. She had never wanted for attention growing up, with all of them ready to play with her whenever she wanted. 

Despite that, just from the sheer fact that both Kiana and M’Danna worked in the Great Lodge - where M’Baku lived and worked - she spent an inordinate amount of time with him. Kiana was the headmistress of the primary school that was also housed within the Great Lodge, and M’Danna was one of his heads of security. 

Before Mandi was old enough to go to daycare - or, better explanation: before Kiana was ready to send Mandi to daycare - often, M’Baku would watch her. When she was an infant and still sleeping much of the days, she would stay in a small crib in the corner of his office while he sorted through all of the missives and paperwork that came with being the chief. 

He was sure that Kiana had a photo somewhere of an infant Mandi wrapped up in a sling across his chest while he was in a Council meeting, fast asleep, her tiny fist clutching his furs. 

“Baku?”

He was drawn out of his thoughts when Mandi called the shortened version of his name she had used for most of her life. 

“Yes?”

“Is your special friend going to come to my party tomorrow?” 

M’Baku carefully pulled Mandi off of his shoulders, until she was cradled in the crook of his left arm against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, umntanami, but she can’t come. She is in America right now.” 

“Why?”

“She is a princess, Mandi. She has to do work, just like I have to do work as a chief.” 

“Oh, okay,” her small shoulders slumped a little bit before she caught sight of her father over M’Baku’s shoulder and immediately perked up again. 

_“Baba!”_

M’Baku chuckled, handing the squirmy child over to his friend before he went to find Kiana. 

Kiana was carefully pouring glasses of wine for the adults, a smaller glass full of sparkling juice for Mandi. The kitchen was full of the smell of spices and the delicious smell of cooking food which made his mouth water. 

“Hey you,” Kiana greeted, her face still drawn in amusement as she watched her husband and daughter through the doorway. 

“Hey yourself,” he replied, pressing a brotherly kiss against her temple and turning to watch Mandi with M’Danna as well. 

Mandi was babbling to her father, gesticulating wildly in the way that all children do. M’Danna was completely engrossed in her tale, giving his own over-dramatic responses to her overwhelming delight.

“I can’t believe she’s four already,” M’Baku admitted. 

“I know, tell me about it,” Kiana half-laughed, but her eyes got a little teary when she said, “I could have sworn yesterday she was a newborn in my arms.” 

“I miss it when she was that little,” he confessed, before he turned a bit teasing and gently nudged her side, “When are you and M’Danna gonna pop out another one?” 

Kiana laughed, but there was a twinkle in her eye that M’Baku didn’t notice, distracted as he was. 

“Mandi has been asking that too. She _really_ wants a little brother or sister. But, it won’t be that much longer before you’re having some of your own,” Kiana teased. 

M’Baku stiffened slightly, trying to hide just how much he _wanted_ that. He wanted a family, wanted a bunch of wild kids running all around the Great Lodge, interrupting his work. He wanted Mandi to have cousins to play with - not including any she might get from her uncles - and he wanted a warm, happy home to come back to, instead of his own stark, empty rooms he had now. 

“Slow down, let me survive these betrothal meetings before we start talking about my hypothetical future children,” M’Baku deflected. 

“Is she not coming to Mandi’s birthday party?” Kiana asked, already knowing that M’Baku was going to say before he said it. 

“She is in California right now, helping her brother develop their OutReach program,” M’Baku said mildly. 

Kiana simply raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. 

“…and, yes, I didn’t invite her because I was afraid it was too much to ask of her right we just finally got through a meeting without leaving angry at each other.” 

Kiana sighed, rolling her eyes even as she straightened up. 

“You are such an idiot.” 

“I know,” he groaned, letting his head slam heavily into the wooden cabinets behind him. 

Kiana ran her hand over his shoulder in a familiar comforting gesture. 

“It’s all going to work out eventually,” she promised; and if she looked a little unsure herself, well…

He would just try to hold onto the conviction in her words.  
.

.

.

.  
**March 30th**  
**Oakland, California**

Shuri clutched the coffee in her left hand as she used her right to make notes on her tablet, her mind running in ten different directions at once.

She normally would be using her kimoyo beads to do all this work, but she and T’Challa had agreed that they would work on slowly easing the tech into America. They did not want to tip their hand too much, especially not now when they were planning to make the reveal at the UN in less than a week.

So, although it killed her a little bit inside, she used sub-par tech with the reassurance from her amused brother that it would be only temporary. 

Currently, she was working on her portion of the OutReach program. But to do this the best way, she needed more information. 

“We need to survey the surrounding areas, all demographics, and ask them what they want out of a OutReach center. There is no point for us to plan for a religious center if only a handful of people want it, and we don’t want to have too few athletic rooms if that is what the overwhelming majority want. Make sure to ask both children, teenagers, and parents. Don’t ask any leading questions. We want honesty. We want this to be a place that is for the people here, not for some framework of another charity in another place. Understood?” 

Shuri was talking a mile a minute to her American assistant, someone that T’Challa had hired to help her and Nakia set up everything in Oakland. 

Amanda Ore was young, about late-twenties to early-thirties, and had been very clearly overwhelmed at the project that they were undertaking. Yet, she was scarily competent, and she had snapped out of it quickly. She had been under the impression she was helping a non-profit (which they were, technically) but it was not until after she had signed many NDA contracts that she got the full story. 

Shuri liked her so much, that she was hoping once the OutReach program was up and running, Amanda would be willing to stay on as her personal assistant. 

Amanda was typing quickly on her laptop, she was as serene as could be. She picked up a pen and made a note in the notebook to her right, before she went onto the next order of business. 

“Okay, so Nakia is going to head the social outreach, which will include a cafeteria, food bank, medical center, and other things of that nature. She is asking if you are planning on coordinating with the neighboring schools about curriculum, or if you are going to be independent of it?” 

“A combination of both,” Shuri shot back, having already thought about this, “I do not want this to be an unfair advantage with children if they cannot come for whatever reason, but I would like to talk to the neighboring schools to see what they are doing with their curriculum, so that if I organize something, it will still be relevant to what they are learning.” 

Amanda typed some more, before making another neat check mark. 

“We are almost done with this list,” she reassured the princess, “But you asked me to remind you about sending a package?” 

“Shit!” Shuri shouted, turning and diving for her bag. She grabbed her own laptop - a modified one from Wakanda, that she used when she needed more power than just her kimoyo beads - and opened it quickly. 

Amanda watched with amusement as the young girl she had found herself becoming very fond of started to click the mousepad with one hand, her other hand up near her face as she chewed on her nail absentmindedly. Her eyes darted back and forth quickly as she read something on the screen.

“Thank you, I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Shuri clicked a few more things, typed out a quick message, and then shut the computer. 

“What was all that about?” Amanda asked. 

Shuri hesitated for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed before she simply shrugged. 

“My…friend back home is going to be at his goddaughter’s birthday party. She’s going to be four. I have not yet met them, but I wanted to make sure that the present I had for her made it to the party in time.” 

Amanda looked incredulously at the princess. 

“A friend?” Amanda asked, then raised her hands to make ‘air quotes’ gestures, “Or a _‘friend?’”_

“It’s complicated,” Shuri groaned, before she grabbed her tablet and quickly opened up what she had been working on, desperate to change the subject.

“Okay, next thing?” 

For a long moment, Amanda wrestled with herself to see if she should pry some more, but deciding that it would be best to let Shuri feel like she had avoided the subject successfully, she turned to her list and asked the next question. 

“T’Challa texted me this morning, asking me to ask you if you would potentially handle some of the after-school tutoring for maths and sciences?” 

“Of course,” Shuri agreed, thankful the conversation got changed, “Although we will have to have people here to fill in the gaps when I am back in Wakanda. See if we can put out an add for other teachers to be hired on full-time for the center. All subjects as well.” 

And on and on they went, Shuri diving head-first into the OutReach Center planning, excitement still thrumming through her veins the more she thought about the good that they could potentially do. 

“Also, Nakia asked me to ask you if you were certain about the name of your science wing,” Amanda threw out. 

Shuri paused, before she looked up at Amanda and smiled a little sadly; T’Challa had been sad when he had seen what she was going to name her wing, but she had seen some pride in his eyes as well. And it felt right to name it what she had chosen, a worthy memorial to the man who had inspired T’Challa to even undertake the development of the OutReach programs. 

“Yes, I am sure.” 

Amanda nodded, “Well then, we’ll have them order a sign for the wall then. Your science wing will officially be the Erik Stevens-Udaku Memorial Wing.”

.

.

.

.

 **March 31st**  
**Ihlathi le Hlabathi, Jabari Lands**  
**Kiana, M’Danna and Mandi’s Home**

The birthday party for Mandi had been set up for the day after her actual birthday. The previous night, the family had joined together for a large dinner of her favorite foods, and she had bounced around, sitting in one lap and than the other, thriving under the undivided attention she was getting. 

Today was the actual party with all her friends from school. The food had been consumed, and some party games had been played. The main attraction of the day had been that the kids had been able to go swimming in the hot thermal pools in the Great Lodge - a treat, since most of the time, they were reserved for adults only.

Now, all the kids had been picked up slowly over the past half-hour, and it was just family again. 

There was a pile of gifts in the corner that threaten to fall over; Mandi had gotten a truly obscene amount of gifts, and it had been a measure of restraint unseen in most young children that she had been able to resist opening them throughout the day.

Kiana did not like the whole “opening the gifts in front of all the kids,” in part because she didn’t want jealousy to potentially spring up in the other kids, but also in case Mandi didn’t like one; the young girl was not quite well versed in putting on a good show. 

M’Baku was anxious for his goddaughter to open up her gifts, and not just because he wanted to see her reaction to his gift.

He was _burning_ with curiosity to know what present Shuri had sent to his goddaughter. 

A messenger had delivered the box to his friend’s house, and they had told him about it when he arrived. It had been sent up to the mountains by the princess, despite the fact that she was across the world in America at the moment. 

The present was half the size of a shoebox, wrapped in beautiful pink paper with swirling designs of silver throughout it. It had some weight to it, more than he had been expecting when he picked it up to examine it.

A part of him was worried she was sending Mandi something that very clearly a “Golden City” invention. He didn’t know how he would react if it was; he was still hesitant about the vibranium technology, and he had hoped that the way he had described their beliefs to Shuri had made some sort of impact.

“Is it time for presents?” 

Mandi’s voice broke him out of his musings. 

She had washed up and was now in comfortable clothes; warm, fleece-lined leggings and a sweater that had been hand-knitted by her grandmother. Her small feet were bare, and she was beaming up at her mother and father. 

M’Danna ran a gentle hand over the top of her head, nodding his permission. 

“Go for it, Mandi.” 

Those still in the house - all family - gathered around as Mandi dove into the pile with vigor. 

Her friends from school had gifted her books, art supplies, toys, and other cool things she gushed over before moving to the next. Kiana was keeping a list of who gave what so that proper thank-you cards could be sent out later. 

After those were done, she moved onto the gifts from the family. 

Her grandmother had knitted her another beautiful sweater, the pattern on it a traditional Jabari one that Mandi favored. She immediately pealed off her sweater and put on the new one, hugging her grandmother’s legs in thanks. 

Her uncles had all given her more toys, some of them ones that had been in the family for a while. Mandi, while still pretty young, understood that they were sentimental and that it was something important to the family and handled them with care. 

M’Baku was excited to give her his gift. 

As her godfather, there were several traditional roles that he played for her. Her uncles were just as important, but their roles were a bit different. 

He would be the one to start training Mandi how to fight when she got just a bit older. But on her fourth birthday, it was tradition among the Jabari that the godfather or the godmother would gift their godchild their first practice weapon. 

The child would train the entire year just with their godparent, and then when they turned five, they would start training with other members of their family and in formal lessons with others their own age. It was symbolic of the fact that they were all one tribe, and everyone had a role to play in the raising of a child.

As per tradition, he had made her practice weapon out of Jabari wood, all hand-carved by himself. It was hard to do so with how strong the trees were, but it was a symbol that his strength would become hers. He would defend her until she became strong enough to defend herself. 

Mandi had already shown an interest in his staff club that he favored, so he decided to carve her a (much) smaller version to practice with. 

Mandi beamed up at him when he knelt down to present it to her. 

“You know how I am your godfather? You know what that means?” 

“Yes! You are going to train me for a whole year, just the two of us!” 

“That’s right, _omncinci,_ I am. And I thought for now, we could start you off with your very own staff, just like mine, only smaller. In a few days, we will start your official training, how does that sound?” 

Mandi gasped, delighted, carefully opening the box it was in and taking it out with gentle hands. 

He was proud to see that she instinctively held it the right way, her small hands wrapping around the middle part of the staff and balancing it perfectly. 

“You’re going to be a natural,” he praised, kissing the top of her head. 

“I’m gonna be a warrior like you and Mama and Baba!” She exclaimed, turning to her father and holding the staff over her head. 

“Look, I am like Baku!” 

She let out a pretty respectable Jabari cry, but it was ruined a bit by the fact that she barely was taller than his thigh. Still, her family praised her for her attempt. 

She was going to be a fierce warrior, he knew it. 

“Hey Mandi, this one is from M’Baku’s ‘special friend,’” M’Danna said with amusement, passing the pink gift to Mandi who was all but bouncing in excitement. 

“The princess?!” Mandi yelped, quickly putting the staff back into the box and rushing to her father. 

“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, sitting down next to her. M’Baku, unable to wait to see, crossed to stand behind the two of them so he had a clear view. 

Mandi carefully ripped the wrapping paper, looking down at a beautifully wooden carved box. There were designs all along the top - _Jabari patterns,_ M’Baku realized with shock. They matched the ones that were carved into his vambraces.

How did Shuri know about them? He had only worn them a few times in her presence, did she memorize them from those brief moments?

Mandi carefully opened the box, and let out a loud gasp when she saw what was inside. 

“Mama, Baba, look! Look! It’s a princess tiara!” 

Kiana crouched down on the other side of her daughter, shock on her face. 

Nestled in the plush black fabric was a beautiful [tiara](https://bit.ly/2mxBZlA). It was simple, but elegant. Two bands split and rejoined, each one studded with diamonds. The silver metal must have been vibranium, but the large stone at the top was a pale, beautiful blue. 

Aquamarine. Mandi’s birthstone. 

It was a half-tiara, so Mandi would still be able to wear it as she grew. It was timeless, and clearly a lot of thought had been put into the design of it. It was not a cheap piece either, with the diamond and vibranium. 

It was not a typical headpiece that would be worn at festivals or traditional functions, but it was a tiara that would fit any princess fantasy or fairytale that Mandi loved. 

She was all but vibrating with excitement as she took it out of the box and settled it on her head, beaming up at her mother and father. 

“Look, I am a princess! I’m gonna be a princess warrior!” 

“Of course you are, _omncinci,”_ M’Baku smiled down at her, her clear happiness making him happy. It warmed him that Shuri had gone to great lengths to make his goddaughter happy. 

Kiana found the pins that had been underneath the tiara to push through the metal loops at the end of the band to make sure that it could be secured to Mandi’s hair. Gently, she pinned the tiara to Mandi’s head, pulling back a bit with tears in her eyes as she watched the joy on her daughter’s face. 

“You look beautiful, _wam umntwana,”_ Kiana said with a soft smile.

“Look, there’s a card,” M’Danna pointed out, picking it out of the side of the fabric in the box and opening it. 

It was a simple birthday card, and on the inside was a small paragraph in simple, slanted handwriting. 

“What does it say?” Mandi asked. 

“It says: _Happy birthday Mandi! I hope that you like the tiara. I cannot wait to meet you, your Uncle M’Baku has told me so many good things about you! Until then, enjoy your birthday! You are almost a whole hand. Maybe one day, if your parents say that it’s alright, you can come to a formal party in the Golden City and wear your tiara. I am sure you will be the prettiest one in the room. Love, Shuri.”_

Mandi immediately begged her parents to say yes to her going to a formal party so she could wear a pretty dress and her tiara, and M’Baku looked down at the card in his betrothed’s handwriting and wondered how he would ever be able to contain Mandi’s excitement ever again. 

It was a thoughtful gift, and he knew that Mandi would treasure it forever. 

After Mandi had run into the bathroom for a mirror to see what the tiara looked like for herself, she came back dancing, singing to herself under her breath. 

“You have one more gift, baby, from your father and I,” Kiana said, and M’Baku was a little surprised at the slight apprehension in her voice. He was even more confused when Kiana reached for her video camera from her mother, who had been filming everything before. She pointed the camera at Mandi herself, her hands gripping it tightly.

“We hope that this gift makes you as happy as your gifts from Princess Shuri and M'Baku did,” M’Danna said, handing Mandi another wrapped present. 

M’Baku raised an eyebrow at his friend. He looked just as nervous as Kiana did. 

Mandi opened up her gift quickly and examined it quickly once the wrapping paper fell away.

It was a wooden plaque, and carved into the front of it in pretty, bubbly letters were two words: “Big Sister.” 

M’Baku looked at his friend’s incredulously, but before he could say anything, a very happy, but very _loud_ shriek came out of the little girl. 

“Really?! _Really really?!"_

Kiana was crying, and M’Danna was getting emotional as well. The rest of the family was shouting in surprise, jumping to their feet and hugging each other. Kiana was wrapped in a hug by her crying mother, and soon, it was pandemonium around the. 

M’Danna extracted himself from the cluster and knelt down next to his daughter. 

“Yes, really really. In a few months, you’re going to have a little brother or sister.” 

“I’m gonna be a big sister!” Mandi crowed, jumping up and down like she had springs attached to the bottom of her little feet. It was a good thing that Kiana had pinned the tiara to her head otherwise it would have tumbled off with the force of her movement.

“Is it a brother? Or a sister?” 

“We don’t know yet,” Kiana finally managed to get out, pulling away from one of her brothers that was hugging her and crouching down and hugging her daughter tightly. Mandi was still jumping up and down, and Kiana had to lean back a little to keep from getting smacked in the face with the top of Mandi’s head. 

“I hope it’s a sister! But I would be okay with a brother! But I really hope it’s a sister!” 

Mandi whirled around to wrap an arm around her father as well, hugging both her parents tightly so she was sandwiched between them. 

“This has been the best birthday _ever!"_  
.

.

.

.  
**April 7th**  
**The United Nations**  
**New York City**

T’Challa stood at the podium; Okoye, Ayo, and Nakia flanking him, silently supportive. He stared out across the gathered representatives, and started speaking in a strong, confident voice.

"My name is King T’Challa, son of King T’Chaka. I am the sovereign ruler of the nation of Wakanda. For the first time in our history we will be sharing our knowledge and resources with the outside world. Wakanda will no longer watch from the shadows. We cannot. We must not. We will work to be an example of we as the brothers and sisters of the earth should treat each other.”

Shuri sat next to Everett Ross, and beamed proudly at her brother. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and she was all but shaking with excitement and nerves. 

"Now more than ever, the illusions of of division threaten our very existence. We all know the truth - more connects us than separates us. In times of crisis, the wise build bridges while the foolish build walls."

He paused, making eye contact with the entire crowd and then looked directly into the camera that was broadcasting this to every news outlet across the United States. 

"We must find a way to look after one another, as if we were one single tribe.”

Shuri had to resist the urge to jump to her feet and cheer for her brother; the only reason she didn’t was because she knew in this instant, she had to maintain a sense of professionalism. This was Wakanda’s first foray into the world - well, that the general public knew about.

Another representative, an older white man with a look of mild scorn on his face leaned forward into his microphone. 

"With all due respect, King T’Challa…what can a nation of farmers offer to the rest of the world?” 

And even though the rest of the room laughed, muttering their own agreements, T’Challa did not falter.

Twin devious smiles spread across both sibling’s faces. 

_Showtime._

.

.

.

.

Needless to say, the entirety of the United Nations Council Chamber had been stunned into complete silence. 

They had bought a video of some of Wakanda’s cities, showing the truth of the infrastructure that had long-since been hidden from the world. It did not show much, but enough to verify that what they said was truth; Wakanda was much more than a nation of farmers. 

Shuri had allowed T’Challa to show off a few of her inventions - without saying who had done them, as per her request - like her ‘sneakers’ and some of the functions of the kimoyo beads. 

They were being careful with how much they revealed; their use of vibranium would be kept a secret for as long as they could possibly manage, and there was no way they were going to reveal their weaponry. They were going to focus on showcasing their medical advancements, as well as computer technology and green energy. 

As much as they were ready to step into the international arena, they were careful to make sure not too much would be revealed to the world. 

Wakanda had to come first, of course. 

After the meeting had adjourned, they had to fight a bit to get out of the chamber. Already, some of the politicians were trying to align themselves with T’Challa, all in a clear effort to get in his good graces and make an ally out of him. 

Thankfully, Ayo and Okoye had planted themselves like brick walls in front of her brother, keeping him from getting accosted on all sides. 

“I will be holding other press conferences to answer questions, and if you contact me,” T’Challa handed out a business card with some email addresses and a phone number, “My assistant will help organize meetings. I will not be answering any questions or making any commitments at this time.” 

And he said the same thing, over and over again to everyone who tried to talk to him, until he must have spoken to the entire room. 

Shuri had slipped away at first chance, shooting a cheeky grin at her brother as she hunkered down next to Everett Ross in a hidden corner of the room. Her brother glared at her, a look that promised retribution for abandoning him, but she merely laughed.

“Hiding, princess?” Everett asked wryly. 

“Tactical retreat,” she countered. She was pleased to see that he was still wearing the single kimoyo bead around his neck, the one she had given to him as a token of friendship and as a means for them to communicate. 

The two watched in silence from their little hidden alcove as T’Challa and Nakia handled the room. 

They were all dressed simply, elegantly, but with pieces of Wakanda influencing their dress. Okoye and Ayo wore black sheath dresses and copper chokers. What no one else would know is that their dresses were made out of the same protective material as their uniforms. 

T’Challa was in a simple black suit, a silk blanket from the Border Tribe gathered around his left shoulder. Nakia looked beautiful and poised in a yellow sheath dress that hugged her curse, the embroidery at her neckline having been done by Ramonda herself. 

Shuri had gone for simple like the others. She wore a navy sheath dress as well, but with white embroidery around the hem, arms, and neckline, also done by her mother. Her braids were loose around her shoulders, and around her upper arms were copper bands that matched the ones around Okoye and Ayo’s necks.

The elegant copper cuff around the edge of her ear disguised the communication device just behind her earlobe. 

The communication device that went right to her new ‘personal bodyguard,’ who was sitting in one of the hidden stealth jets with some other members of the Dora Milaje, hovering about a mile away. 

_“Are you all set?”_ Bucky’s voice echoed across the link. 

“I am fine,” Shuri responded in a whisper, holding her hand up to her ear, “Just watching my brother handle this room. It’s actually quite impressive.” 

_“Let me know if anything weird happens.”_

“Like what?”

_“Anything. Any strange feelings, people that don’t seem to fit in. We are in the camera monitoring system, so I can run facial recognition and background searches if need be. If anything happens, we will be there in less than a minute.”_

“Okay, White Wolf,” she laughed a bit at his codename, and how accurate it was in this moment, “Don’t worry too much. We will probably be done in about an hour, and then you owe me a true New York bagel.” 

_“Whatever you say, doll."_

Finally, T’Challa motioned her back over. She quickly said goodbye to Ross, and went to join her brother again. The group of them hustled out of the meeting room where they had made their announcement into the main foyer of the building. 

“That went really well,” Nakia explained, sighing in relief as they put distance between them and the other representatives of countries, “I feel a bit bad for your assistant, T’Challa. She is going to be swarmed in calls and emails. You are going to be booked in meetings until the end of the year.” 

T’Challa sighed and shrugged, before wrapping an arm around her. 

“It is a good thing that I have a great team of people to help me.” 

Nakia rolled her eyes at his blatant attempt at flattery. 

“You are lucky I love you, otherwise I would have taken a year-long stealth mission in Brazil to avoid all these meetings. I hate politics. Give me a man with a gun to take down. Hell, give me thirty.” 

“Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed, and you will be duly rewarded,” her brother teased Nakia, pressing a kiss to the crest of her cheekbone. 

Shuri shuddered at the innuendo in his voice. 

“Ew, gross, keep the flirting to a minimum in public please. Are we all set to go? White Wolf is getting a bit antsy having all of us in one place like this.” 

T’Challa laughed.

“No, I promised to meet one more person before we head back to Wakanda. It will be brief.” 

“Who?” 

And with impeccable timing, a car pulled up through security to stop at the front doors of the building.

The media and photographers outside swarmed the black sports car as soon as it stopped, yelling and pushing microphones out to try and get a statement. 

A familiar-looking man stepped out of the driver side of the care. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, a bright red tie the only splash of color. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but there was a sarcastic half-smirk on his face that screamed arrogance. 

He crossed around to the passenger seat, not at all fazed by the screaming photographers. A man in another suit - clearly a bodyguard - got out of the car from the backseat, carrying a large briefcase, crossing to the man’s side and putting himself between the photographers and the shorter man. 

The one in the red tie opened the passenger door, and gallantly helped a woman out. She was a tall, willowy redhead who, too, did not seem fazed by the photographers. She too was holding a briefcase, and was dressed in a perfectly-fitting navy suit. In heels that were tall enough and sharp enough to be classified as a weapon, she was taller than the man, but they still made a handsome couple as they walked arm-in-arm into the building. 

Once they were inside, the man took off his sunglasses, and Shuri realized why they had looked so familiar. 

It was Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. 

The bodyguard took up a familiar position behind them, and the three quickly crossed the room to where the Wakandan’s were standing. 

“Hello, Your Patherness,” Tony greeted without skipping a beat.

While Okoye and Ayo bristled at the disrespectful greeting, T’Challa merely grinned. 

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” he nodded respectfully to Tony, before reaching out to shake Pepper’s hands with a respectful, “Miss Potts.” 

“You must be Princess Shuri,” Tony turned to her next, and the way that his eyes lit up and his tone instantly became more respectful shocked her. 

“I am,” she agreed, but did not offer her hand to him as her brother did not.

“Fantastic. How old are you?” 

“Too young for you,” Okoye snapped, taking a half-step in front of Shuri protectively. 

Tony instantly made a disgusted face.

“Okay, first, _no,_ ew, not what I was aiming for. Second, I was asking because kid, I am ready to adopt you right this second. Your improvements on the BARF technology is astounding, I would like to talk to you about it sometimes, and also, what is the Wakandan law about patents? Because you improved it so you get a cut, and I am trying to get the technology into production-” 

Shuri stared at him in shock even as he continued to ramble on. 

“- and with luck, psychiatrists working with those who suffer from PTSD will be trained in how to use it, and then slowly start introducing the technology to patients. The ultimate goal is to have this available to the masses with minimal fees, which means I am going to have to fight with my board, but what else is new-” 

Pepper reached out and gently smacked him in the arm, cutting off his words. 

“Give the poor woman a second to actually process your words,” Pepper chided gently, before turning to Shuri and offering her hand for a handshake. Shuri took it, still a little thrown, when Pepper said, “I’m Pepper Potts, it’s very nice to meet you, your highness.” 

“Likewise. You are going to have to tell me where you got your shoes,” Shuri complimented, in awe at how graceful Pepper managed to be even precariously balanced as she was. 

Pepper smiled, “They were custom made by an up-and-coming designer. I think you will like her, she uses ethically sourced leather from small, family-owned farms throughout the world. I’ll make sure to give your name to the designer, she is a good friend now and I am sure she would love to work with you.”

Tony butt into the conversation, clearly still on his one-track to talk to Shuri about the BARF technology. 

“Yeah, yeah, beautiful and expensive shoes connect women all over the world. What do you think of working with me to make sure that the BARF technology gets to where it is needed the most?" 

“You are going to be…just giving the technology away?” 

Tony Stark looked at her blankly for a moment. 

“Um, yes, that’s what I said. Well, not yet, I want to get feedback from professionals before I finalize the designs, but since you worked on it as well, hell you made most of the improvements, you are important to the project as well. Can I count you in?” 

Shuri beamed, immediately agreeing, “Of course I’m in!” 

“Perfect, fantastic, you will have to come by the compound with your brother. It’s pretty much candyland there, and I cannot wait to pick your brains. It will be nice to work with another genius, at least one close to my level of intelligence of course.” 

“Close? I am definitely many levels above,” she teased lightly, but Tony did not even miss a beat. 

“I know, and let me tell you, I cannot wait to talk shop with you. You are going to revolutionize the world, I can’t wait to see how you make some of my ideas better.” 

Shuri blinked, shocked; she had expected, with his arrogant expression and well-publicized ego, he would have bristled at the mention that her intelligence was higher than his. Instead, he seemed… _thrilled_ that she was smarter than him. He was comfortable with the fact that a girl less than half his age could run intellectual circles around him, and more than that, he wanted to _learn_ from her and work together. He wanted her to _improve_ his ideas.

In that moment, Shuri wondered if everything that Tony Stark was rumored to be was wrong. 

“Contact me here,” Shuri pulled one of her own cards from the pockets secretly sewn into her dress and handed it to Tony, who took it from her hand with minimal hesitation - something that clearly surprised Pepper, who stared at the exchange incredulously.

It was the only card of her own that she had handed out today, and it was to Tony Stark. 

_What even is my life now?_

“Of course, perfect, will do. Now, for the less fun stuff…” 

Tony turned back to T’Challa, and his face was solemn. The good-humored, sarcastic man she had been talking to disappeared, and professional Tony Stark was out to play. 

“We need to talk about the Accords.” 

“Of course,” T’Challa inclined his head, “Here or somewhere else?” 

“Somewhere else, at another time. Because we signed at the beginning, we are some of the only ones in position to petition for amendments. I have a list as long as my leg back in my workshop for things we need to change and make sure can never come to pass, but it would be great if I had a prince backing my ideas.” 

“Of course, we will talk more at a later time,” T’Challa agreed. 

“Perfect. Well, sorry to run, but we have a meeting scheduled with Everett Ross, so we have to go now, but I await our next meeting anxiously,” Tony said solemnly, yet still managing to sound sarcastic near the end. 

Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony, before saying her own goodbyes. The three of them turned to walk away, before Tony halted and spun around again. 

“Happy, give me the case,” and the bodyguard handed Tony the giant, square suitcase that he had been carrying. 

Tony came back over to T’Challa, who was watching the man in confusion. 

“I almost forgot-“ 

Shuri highly doubted that; it was an act. Tony had planned for this to seem offhand, like a secondary thought, something he did not care about.

“I have something for you. Well, in better terms, I have something to _return_ to you.” 

T’Challa hesitantly took the case from Tony. 

“Return something?” 

Tony shrugged, blasé as possible, but there was a faint flash of emotion behind his eyes. 

“My father stole vibranium from your country decades ago,” he said without flinching, “And used it for American interests. It has…recently come back into my possession,” his face went cold at that, like ice creeping over the edge of a lake. 

He jerked his chin to the suitcase. 

“The owner of that is rightfully your people and your country. You can do with it what you will. You can melt it down and use it for something else, or you can return it to its previous owner the next time you see him.” 

T’Challa’s eyes lit up with realization. He clearly weighed his next words carefully. 

“And how did you come to have this in your possession?” He asked mildly. 

Tony smiled, but it was a cold, bitter smile, sharp enough to cut.

“Oh, well, throughout the course of a minor disagreement, the previous owner buried it in my chest, destroying my arc reactor and disabling my suit, and then left it and me behind in a Siberian bunker.” 

Shuri blinked in surprise, her mouth falling open in shock. In her ear, she could hear Bucky give a sharp inhale.

T’Challa blinked in surprise, exchanging loaded glances with Nakia and Okoye. 

Tony waved his hand through the air idly, cutting off any potential replies. 

“Water under the bridge now. Well, the bridge was burned in a spectacular explosion, but the metaphor still stands. I trust that you will make the right decision, Simba. You seem like a level-headed person, and a neutral third-party. And I would be lying if I said I was not thrilled to have that thing out of my house, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope you melted it down for scrap.” 

Done with the exchange, Tony turned and headed back to Pepper and Happy, his bodyguard, with a casual, “See you when I see you,” over his shoulder. 

They stood in silence for a long moment, before Shuri half-turned away from the others, raising a shaking hand to her ear cuff.

“What happened in Siberia?” She whispered, horror leaking into her tone as she recalled how casually Tony Stark had explained what had happened to him. 

_Oh, well, throughout the course of a minor disagreement, the previous owner buried it in my chest, destroying my arc reactor and disabling my suit, and then left it and me behind in a Siberian bunker._

She knew that that Tony Stark’s arc reactor was originally created to keep shrapnel from getting into his heart; it had been classified information, but their War Dogs had picked up on it through the grapevine. 

Shuri had been impressed at the time at the sheer amount of genius it would take to make something to account for the nuclear reaction heat and the miniaturizing of the technology, not to mention he did so in a cave under extreme duress without specialized tools.

Again, through their intelligence, she knew that in the aftermath of the Mandarin attacks, he had been able to undergo surgery to get it taken out of his chest. But the fact remained that he must still have serious permanent physical damage, and for a long time, he had depended on it to live. 

_He had been beaten, his reactor_ broken, _the thing that used to keep him alive_ destroyed, _alone in a disabled suit, in Siberia without backup_ \- 

They had left him for dead. 

She didn’t know all the details about what had gone down in the bunker; Bucky and Captain Rogers had never told her, and she had just assumed that they had stopped Zemo, gotten away from Stark, and came to Wakanda to keep Bucky from being arrested for the crimes Zemo had framed him of. She had thought the misunderstanding had been entirely about the Accords, but now... 

But now she realized there was something much larger, much messier at play. 

_“White Wolf,”_ she snapped, her voice no longer quiet and shaky, but steady, firm, fear and dismay rising up within her like carbonation in a soda can that had been shaken too hard, “What happened in Siberia?”

She could hear Bucky’s ragged breaths, and although she was worried for her friend, there was a larger part of her that was horrified by the picture that was coming together in her mind. 

When he didn’t answer her, she bit out a question although she was terrified of the answer.

“Did you and the Captain leave him behind for dead?” 

Another long silence, before Bucky’s agonized voice came across the communication link. 

_“Yes.”_

.

.

.

.

Pepper looked worridly at Tony as they walked to the meeting room where they were to meet Everett Ross. A quick glance exchanged with Happy was enough for their friend and bodyguard to step backwards, giving them space and a little privacy for a conversation. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said gently, a hand on Tony’s forearm to keep him from continuing to walk, “You could have kept it. It was your father’s, he did make it.” 

“He made it to protect the man who then turned around and hid the truth of his murder. The irony is enough to kill, I wonder how Dad feels about his hero now.” Tony said flatly. 

Pepper was not fooled by the front he put on; she had seen many times over how much his parent’s deaths still affected him. They had been awful parents to him, of course, but they were still his _parents._

He had been only seventeen when they died, and now, as an adult, he created the BARF technology because he still had not completely worked through the guilt and the grief. He had tried so hard to forgive his father, to come to terms with losing his mother, only to find out in the end that they had been _murdered._

And that the man he had idolized growing up, the man that Howard Stark had put on a pedestal all his life, had known and lied about it. 

Pepper _hated_ Steve Rogers for what he had done to Tony. Not for refusing to sign the Accords, or anything to do with that. 

No, she hated him for taking the tiny bit of trust Tony had given him - fragile, delicate, and so rarely given - and destroyed it. She hated him for leaving Tony behind in a bunker in Siberia, in a damaged suit, knowing full-well that until only recently, the arc reactor was the only thing keeping Tony alive. 

“I had to give it to him, Peps,” Tony sighed wearily, a tiny bit of his mask coming down with her. 

“I refuse to be another white man who keeps something that was stolen from other nations. That metal was never my father’s to use. And it is not mine to keep.” 

“What if he gives it back to Rogers?”

Tony shuddered slightly, and she ached to just wrap her arms around him and protect him from the entire world that would rip him apart if he showed even an ounce of weakness. 

A world that had already tried to, so many times. 

“That is his right. But I have a little faith in him, I doubt that His Pantherness will give it right back to Rogers without demanding an explanation. And if he does…well, then when I push the pardons through for the Rogue Avengers, then Steve will be able to take up his mantle of Captain America with minimal pushback and questions from the media.” 

Pepper pursed her lips, gritting her teeth and trying to keep from yelling at Tony for trying to hard to protect Steve and the rest of the team that had turned on him so easily. 

“When does it end? You already sent the BARF technology to Barnes-“

“Because it was not his fault, Pepper,” Tony sighed, rubbing his temples harshly with one hand. 

“I am never going to be able to get justice for my parents, or for any of the Winter Soldier’s other victims, because he was a victim. He was a weapon Hydra pointed at my parents. I know what they did to him. I can’t blame him for killing them, because he wasn’t a person then. And I know I am going to have to look Barnes in the face, the last face my mother ever saw, and apologize because I was in the wrong. And it kills me inside. But he is a victim just as much as they are. I cannot blame him, even if I wanted to, and _god,_ do I want to.” 

Tony sighed, lacing his fingers through her hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“I know you want to rip them apart and send them to hell,” and here his lips twitched into a fond smile, “But I need you to trust me. I am not forgiving them, and I am not forgetting what happened. It is not all about me, and this is so much bigger than that. The world needs them, needs these superpowers individuals, to keep them safe. There is as storm coming, and without them, we might not whether it.” 

Pepper sighed, squeezing his hand tightly and trying to rein in her raging emotions. She knew that she would never understand how Tony could do all this, how he could be hurt and tossed aside and still stand back up with an impassive expression. 

She wished there was something she could say to convince him to let the Rogue Avengers say in exile, wished that she could do _something_ to protect him from this, but she knew she couldn’t. 

She could only support him. 

“You are too good to them,” she finally sighed. 

Tony smiled sadly, before pressing a kiss to her cheek and continuing to walk to their appointment with Everett Ross. 

“It’s not for them. It’s for the world.”

.

.

.

.

Everett Ross’ life had certainly taking a turn for the weird. 

He had fought a secret battle in Wakanda after being healed almost instantaneously from a bullet wound that could have killed him. He was now probably the only outsider who knew the full truth of Wakanda’s infrastructure and might. He was friends with the Wakandan King, Queen Mother, and Princess, and had a kimoyo bead around his neck to prove it. 

Sometimes, he wondered if it had all been a fever dream. 

And now, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts were in a meeting room with him. 

Tony Stark had immediately laid down a technology jammer, which told Everett more than anything else that what they were here to talk to him about had the potential to be dangerous. 

“What can I help you with?” He asked after some long moments of silence.

Tony didn’t answer right away. He was sprawled in a chair across the table from Everett, examining the man for something. Evidently, he found it, because he abruptly sat up, spine straight and shoulders stiff. 

“I am here to talk to you about your uncle, General Thaddeus Ross.” 

Everett couldn’t help his sour expression. 

“I am not on speaking terms with my uncle, Stark,” he spat out. 

Tony grinned. 

“I was counting on that, Everett.” 

Pepper had her legs crossed demurely and her hands folded placidly in her lap, but her eyes were sharp and missed nothing. 

“Your uncle is a big proponent for the Accords,” she started, before he interrupted her. 

“Which you signed,” he snapped at Stark. 

“Because if we didn’t, he was going to immediately throw the Mutant Registration Act on the table. They would be rounding up all mutants, even ones who do not use their powers for superhero work. The accords was the best piece of legislation for us to sign, because we, the Avengers, had the advantage of being able to be involved in the further development of it.” 

“Not all of the Avengers. Captain Rogers made his view of it plainly clear,” Everett said dryly. 

Pepper Potts was the one who leaned forward and said cooly, “Captain Rogers was frozen in the ice for seventy years. He missed the development of the international arena and current international affairs and relations, and how quickly the world became interconnected in the aftermath of World War II. He may have an eidetic memory, but reading the Accords does not mean he understands the political motivations behind it, not like we do.” 

Tony leaned forward and cut off what he knew would be a verbal evisceration of Everett Ross from Pepper’s sharp tongue. Normally, he loved watching her rip into people, but they were here to recruit Ross as an ally, not to alienate him. 

“That is not the point of the conversation. The point is that your uncle is gearing up for something bad, amassing as much political support as he can for his next move, and he is going to use the Accords to do so. That does not mean the Accords are bad, just that the man in power wants to twist them that way. He made his opinion blatantly clear when mutants and other enhanced individuals first came onto the scene, starting with his witch hunt of the Hulk.” 

Tony nodded to Pepper, who extracted a thick manilla file out of her briefcase next to her, and she slid it across the table to Everett. He slammed his hand down on the file to stop it, but did not move to open it.

Tony turned his gaze back to Everett and asked, “How do you feel about making sure that your Uncle no longer has the power to use the Accords for his own personal vendetta?” 

Everett slowly sat up straighter in his chair, leaning over the table to examine Tony’s expression in return. The inventor merely raised an eyebrow, his features relaxed. 

Slowly, Everett flipped open the file and then quickly scanned its contents. 

Reports. Testimonies. Redacted material found in the depths of SHEILD’s old file dump. Photographs. Transcripts of incriminating conversations. Banks statements, offshore accounts, the location of the underwater prison, the Raft. 

Proof, a lot of it, of his uncle’s shady dealings. 

Everett snapped the file shut and looked directly at Tony and Pepper. 

There was no hesitation in his voice when he asked,“When do we start?” 

Tony grinned, but it was a shark-like grin, the grin of someone who knew that he was going to taste blood sooner rather than later. 

“Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xhosa Translations (from Google Translate):  
>  _omncinci_ \- little one  
>  _Ihlathi le Hlabathi_ \- “Ice Forest/Forest of the World” [note: there is not official capital of Jabari land, so I made this one up myself]  
>  _Malume_ \- uncle  
>  _umntanami_ \- my niece  
>  _wam umntwana_ \- my child  
>  *****  
> Sorry for the late update everyone! I am trying my hardest to get onto a schedule again, but it is difficult. Thank you for your patience, I am so sorry!
> 
> This is going to be a long end-note, so I apologize for that. 
> 
> So, just to put it out there, I am Team Tony Stark. I know that people might have a different opinion, but mine is influenced by the fact that I am a pre-law student, specifically international law and international relations. There is a lot of room for interpretation in the movie, and maybe my understanding of the Accords is wrong, but this is fanfiction so I am just rolling with what I think/believe. 
> 
> I really don't want to start an argument in the comments, so please all be kind to each other (and to me). If you do not like this portion of the story, I am sorry to say it will influence things a great deal going forward. There will be no overt bashing of either side, but yes, this is going to be a bit more biased and skewed to Tony's side, I am not going to lie to you. 
> 
> Anyway, I know M'Baku and Shuri weren't really interacting in this chapter, but although I am building this entire romance for them, I want to build up the rest of the narrative beyond them. I am really trying to write them as in character as possible, but also write them as real, relatable people. 
> 
> Let me know if there is anything specific that you guys want to see! Your ideas and opinions matter a lot to me, and in all honesty, your ideas are often much more creative than mine.
> 
> Feel free to pop by my [tumblr](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/), I reblog stuff relating to this story and my fandom feels, and there is a whole "bring a bullet, bring a sword" tag there too. Also, feel free to drop into my inbox there as well!
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter, please keep commenting and subscribing! Love you all!


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